The Case of Scarlet Ripper
by Demetria0620
Summary: Caitlin Snow is a hero, a vigilante that protects her city along with her team, Team Frost. She and Iris are the original Team Frost, BFF and sisters for life. Thus, when Iris become the latest victim of the infamous serial killer—The Scarlet Ripper—Caitlin was out for his head. In the same time, she was struggling to not fall for her late best friend's boyfriend, Dr. Barry Allen.
1. He should've listened

_**Author's Note :**_ _Hi and good day, lovely readers. I'm Demetria, or Tria, if you ever want address me anywhere or want to hit me up for a chat or anything. If you have seen this on A03, yep, that's me, the same old Demetria_0620. I'm more active there than here, but I'll keep this one updated as soon as I update it's twin there._

 _A little note about this story...because I worry that you might get confused._

 _This is an extension for my series on A03. The main focus of that series are Savitar-Evil!Barry-Len polyamourous's relationship, with Savitar and Barry being married and Len is the younger boyfriend of theirs. In that series, Barry has turned to_ _villainy_ _and after an unfair imprisonment that filled him with hatred. He resurrected the 'dead' Savitar from Earth-1, and utilized their combined power to wipe out all heroes and dominated his Earth as gods/supervillains. Evil Barry has established a wide network with criminals, villains and other 'morally fucked up' versions of Barry Allen in the multiverse._

 _The version of Barry Allen in this story is one of the 'morally fucked up' doppelgangers of him._

 _I'm not sure if this could even be considered as an alternate universe, but since you have catch up with the roots of the story, I hope neither of you are confused whenever I had to mention Savitar or Flash. I consider this piece as a spin-off of my Evil!Barry universe, since right now, my two ships that I'm willing to sink with are SaviBarry and SnowBarry._

 _I don't have anything against WestAllen though. I just preferred other ships because sometimes I think that WestAllen ship is cursed by the writers, and both of them have a jealous anti-love spirit attached to them. It annoyed me to hell._

 _Now, enough of my not-needed introduction. Enjoy the story, readers!_

 _And do not forget to comment. It keeps me alive!_

 ** _Disclaimer : I DO NOT own the Flash. This is a mere work of fanfiction._**

* * *

It was mean of her.

She was very mean and hurtful.

They were supposed to have a romantic dinner together tonight. He even took early leave from his work to cook for her. It was supposed to be a nice relaxing evening, cuddling up to each other and watching random rom-com on the TV. He would give her the backrub she deserved, having her comforting warmth in his arms for the rest of the night. But here she was, challenging him with the threats of justice, saying all those horrible things to him while he stood there in utter silence and shock. Each of her words was like a sharp blade through his chest, wounding his heart that was so devotedly loyal to her. He would do anything for her. If she asked nicely, he would happily hand over himself to the police, admitting his crimes for the past year. He wouldn't even fight or plead for his non-existent innocence. He would admit for his crimes, each and every one of it...

If only she asked him nicely.

He loved her. He loved her so much. He would do anything to make she loved him, even giving up his freedom and tell the truth to the public.

Anything. Anything for her love.

But she didn't love him back. He was just another headlines. Her prime suspect.

She never loved him. These six months since they started dating? Three months since he gifted her this apartment and asked her to move in with him? They were all lies.

She never loved him in the first place.

The Flash was right. Savitar perfectly won the gloating rights.

Iris West could not be trusted.

"Please do, Caitlin. I would really appreciate it if you tell me if she is safe with you," he said to the phone, his voice thick with fake concern and worries, his lips quirked to a taunting smile when he stroked her hair off her face, tracing his thumb underneath her eyes to wipe the tears that dampened her cheeks. Caitlin—or Frost, whichever was dormant for now, he didn't care—said something to assure him from the other line but he wasn't really listening. He gripped her chin gently with his thumb and index finger, tilting her face up.

Green eyes filled with malice and anger met the terrified teary brown eyes.

He smirked.

"Thank you, Caitlin. Please keep me updated," he murmured to the phone, before bidding good night to the ice vigilante, switching the device off and tossed it away.

The light of hope in those terrified brown eyes vanished, and been replaced with utter fear.

He huffed a sharp bitter laugh.

Did she really think her little superhero team could save her?

What a joke.

Gently, lovingly, he pressed his lips to her forehead, feeling her body flinched underneath his touch as if the idea of him touching her disgusted her so much. A twisting pain swelled in his chest at that reaction as he retreated, untying her gag and murmured with voice so broken and betrayed;

"I really do love you, you know?"

He smashed his lips to hers before she could even scream for help.

He should've listened to The Flash and Savitar.


	2. The Bright Funeral

The warm sunny weather was too inappropriately perfect for today.

It was perfect because Iris West was an impersonation of sunshine, the light that helped her friends on their darkest coldest day. She was smart, kind, quick-witted and daring—the combo of charming traits packed in a gorgeous lady who would be all too happy to chase after a robber while wearing a pair of motherfucking six inches high heels.

Everyone loved her.

This beautiful weather was perfect for her departure.

But it was inappropriate because she left, _forever_.

Caitlin gritted her teeth, holding back the needs to scream. She forced the ice in her veins to recede, not wanting her secret identity been revealed here, in the midst of the mourning friends and family. Iris was her best friend, her partner-in-vigilante, the first person in her team after she woke up from her coma with a meaner second personality and ice-power. Iris didn't judge, never did the other woman saw Caitlin's more brutish and violent side as a potential threat. But instead, the woman treated Frost like how she would treat Caitlin—friendly and kind—like an understanding, perfect best friend she was.

Even Frost has softened up in these two years since the particle accelerator's explosion.

After all, the two of them pioneered the original Team Frost.

The Frost who was residing at the back of Caitlin's head screamed in sorrow when they lowered the casket into the ground.

No, scratch that. Frost loved Iris. Loved her as a friend, loved her as a sister. The deadly frost has warmed up to soothing ice for the one and only Iris West.

Thus, Iris' brutal death was a harsh slap to her face.

She failed to protect her best friend. She failed to protect her sister.

Some hero she was.

She stood there, head-bowed low, eyes on the ground as she was frozen, unable to move even after the crowd departed. Joe's embrace felt cold around her body, her guilt was overwhelmingly deep in her chest when she saw how broken the man was.

"Don't blame yourself, Cait, Frost," he choked, his voice almost inaudible at the second name as he tightened his embrace on her. "And please don't go looking for him. _Please_."

Caitlin's eyes flashed white-blue. "He is just a man."

" _Please_ ," Joe shook his head, choking back a huge sob of tears. "He is not your average menace. You're not safe either," his embrace tightened on Caitlin's body, adding in hushed whisper as he stared straight into Frost's eyes. " _Both_ of you."

Caitlin said nothing, completely avoiding eye contact.

"Dad," Wally called, giving Caitlin a half-hearted smile as he pulled his father into his embrace. The boy's face was a strong façade, but Caitlin had known the engineer well enough to notice the sorrow in his eyes before it vanished as he smiled and squeezed Joe's shoulder. "Let's go home."

For a moment, Caitlin was grateful that she had agreed with Iris to keep Wally out of Team Frost. The boy was headstrong, just like her sister, and the last thing Caitlin wanted was to have the engineer chasing after his sister's murderer and dying the same way as her sister—yet another victim of The Scarlet Ripper.

Caitlin gritted her teeth again, willing all her willpower to not let Frost completely out.

She was going to have her vengeance. The Scarlet Ripper would be brought to justice soon.

"Barry?" she heard Wally called out, and her heart clenched a bit, not knowing how to face her late best friend's boyfriend in the light of recent events.

Frost was the one who found Iris's body after all.

Barry had called her using Iris' phone, telling her that he and Iris had an argument and she had stormed away from their apartment without even bothering to bring her phone. Iris saved her name with 'BFF' tag, so he figured that she would be the first Iris would try to contact after storming out of an argument. He sounded earnestly worried on the phone, calling Caitlin so that she would inform him if Iris come to sleepover at her place instead. It was a reasonable worry, with the menace of serial killer still on the loose, he was just being a nice boyfriend by trying to look out for Iris' safety.

The face that Barry made when she told him of Iris' death was heart-breaking, that even Frost couldn't help but pity the man.

But none of them could stop him from looking at Iris' body just before the mortician tried to restore her body back to its original state. Caitlin didn't know what Barry felt when he saw the dreadful state of Iris' body. He was a surgeon himself, so he was used to the sight of blood and gore—but the dreadful sight of the victims of Scarlet Ripper could weaken even the strongest of men.

The Scarlet Ripper started terrorizing Central City since last year, starting out with one or two victims for every three or four months before it escalated to the point that he had a schedule for when the next body would turn up.

They always found the victims on Monday of the first and third week of the month.

As if anyone needed anymore reasons to hate Mondays.

Though, the serial killer's MO was consistent since his first murder. The victims were completely random, men and women of all ages and races and social statuses but they were always found naked in the most unexpected locations such as a church, a hospital and even the forensic lab of CCPD itself, their clothes would be neatly folded beside them—washed, dried and ironed like they were fresh from dry cleaners. Strangely enough, the victims were untouched, unlike other prominent serial killers that got off on their victims' pain, The Scarlet Ripper killed his victims in the gentlest way possible. The forensic reports stated that they died without experiencing pain—it's like as if they were peacefully put to sleep.

It was a good thing though. Caitlin didn't want anyone to feel it when their skin was carefully ripped open and been turned inside out, their organs taken out and arranged in an almost OCD manner according to its colour—usually the ones with the lightest shade of red will be arranged on top followed by darker shades—as they became a horrifying statement of art.

The Ombre of Gore, as Cisco called it. Not the brightest comment from the scientist, but Frost and Caitlin whole-heartedly agree.

Caitlin hated art museums after they started working on Ripper's case.

It's difficult to look at normal art when her brain associated it with the way the serial killer referred to his victims as his art pieces in all those little notes he sent to the police.

The arrangement of the internal organs was indistinguishable most of the time, too abstract and unpredictable to be understood, though criminal psychologist suggested that it was a reflection of the Ripper's mood—and this suggestion came out when the Christmas victim was arranged in the shape of a Christmas tree, the deranged menace has even taken the effort of using the finger bones to make a three-dimensional star that was placed on top of the pile of organs, muscles and bones.

Some people just had a weird way to bring out the festive spirit….

"Barry," Wally called again, snapping Caitlin from her thoughts. She looked in the direction of the newly erected gravestone and couldn't help but flinched upon seeing the way Barry's lips pressed at the top of the marble stone, his eyes squeezed shut. "You're coming home with us?" Wally asked, offering his hand.

Barry stood and shook his head. "I need time alone."

Wally looked hesitant, as if he didn't want to leave Barry alone.

"Call us when you got home?" Joe said, his voice was thick with tears and worry as he staggered to the young man and gave him a gentle hug. "Don't do anything stupid, okay?"

Barry gingerly nodded, waving once when Joe and Wally left, leaving the two of them at the graveyard. Barry returned to the grave once the father and son had disappeared from their sight, resting his temple against the cold stone, his eyes shut close with a sigh. There were no tears—suitable to the famous genius doctor that even Dr. Wells respected, he was perfectly composed and calm—but something clawed in Caitlin's chest when she saw how white his knuckles have been when he gripped on the edge of the stone.

It must be hard. That was the first argument they had ever since they started dating six months ago, and it ended with his girlfriend being murdered.

To make it worse, Iris was the first victim that has been reported to be raped before being dissected. It was weird, that the police had even considered her murder as a copycat case. The Scarlet Ripper never sexually abused his victims, but the evidence of rape was there on Iris' body. Her corpse was the least distorted among the victims, having only her skin been turned inside out, but her organs were arranged back to their original place—the Ripper little note to the police stated something along the lines that she was so beautifully perfect that she didn't need to be altered too much. Regardless, despite the evidence of rape, they didn't have any DNA samples, since her body was meticulously cleaned and disinfected before she was turned to gory statement of art—the Ripper was nothing but thorough.

Imagine hearing such thing happened to the woman you loved.

Caitlin grimaced at the thought of Barry's feelings when he listened to the details of Iris' death.

Frost mumbled something at the back of her mind, something about keeping an eye on Barry. Joe was right to ask Barry to call him when he reached home. Such little argument about work and lack of time spent together had ended up with death….Caitlin didn't even want to know what the man was thinking—and potentially regretting—right now.

Caitlin briefly wondered if things would have been better if they told Barry about Team Frost.

Perhaps the perfect couple wouldn't fight that night and Iris wouldn't left the safety of their apartment.

Caitlin didn't know him that well, as she only met Barry whenever she went to his talks or whenever she saw him at either CCU or the hospital. They simply didn't belong to the same crowd despite both being involved in medical fields. He was a well-known surgeon, graduating with double PhDs in medic and pharmaceutical at such green age of 22 years old. He was a genius, skipping grades and achieving so many for a twenty-eight years old man while Caitlin did everything like a normal intelligent student—only one or two grades skipping but no early PhDs.

They were in a completely different type of crowds.

It almost didn't make sense when Iris requested for the whole team to keep Barry out of the Team Frost loop despite Len and Dr Well's disagreement. Having Barry on the team would be a great advantage. Not only they would have one of the greatest mind on Earth on their side, but his expertise would be super helpful whenever Frost, Len, Lisa or Cisco got hurt while protecting the city.

It sucked when Caitlin had to treat her own wounds and immediately attend to her teammates' injuries after that.

They need a proper medical expertise in their team.

But Iris was so persistent on keeping her boyfriend out of the loop.

Iris must have loved him so much to not exposing him to their dangerous night life.

"Caitlin….," Caitlin jerked a little when he was suddenly in front of her, his voice was hesitant when he added, "…right?"

"Ah, yes," Caitlin nodded almost robotically, having caught off guard when she didn't notice him moving from Iris' gravestones. "Caitlin Snow, Iris' best friend," she said, offering her hand.

The corners of his lips quirked to a little smirk, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Barry Allen," he said, taking her hand and Frost whistled at the back of her mind when he didn't even flinch at her naturally cold hands. "It's ironic that I met you on her… _departure_. I expected to meet you when she thought it's time for me to gain your seal of approval..."

He seemed so reluctant to use funeral in his sentence.

Caitlin naturally reached a hand to his upper arm to comfort him, squeezing gently in assurance, all the while berating Frost to stop whistling about the firmness of his muscles—something that was not commonly associated with a busy doctor that have a regular teaching schedule at CCU.

 _I can see why Iris didn't introduce us sooner_ , Frost commented dryly, and Caitlin felt mortification and embarrassment rose to her cheeks when her other personality gave an approving once-up to Barry. _Doc is superhot._

 _We were just at Iris' funeral and you're already checking out her boyfriend?_

 _Didn't break the girls' rules since he is single again._

 _Frost, NO._

"Dr. Snow?" Caitlin was again caught off-guard when he waved his hand in front of her face. "Are you okay? You looked…," he let his sentence hanged, a frown emerged on his face.

"Distracted?" she offered with a tiny grin, mentally scolding Frost who was giving out inappropriate comments to egg her on. "I'm talking to Dr Allen. _THE_ Dr. Allen. The whole medical community respects and worships you. Pardon me for restraining myself from fangirling right here."

He laughed upon hearing her words—the realest sign of amusement he showed today—his eyes crinkled and his lips stretched to a huge grin. "I'm not anyone significant…," he murmured once his laughter subsided, but his smile remained on his face.

The smile suited him more than when he was brooding.

 _Oh? I thought girls' rules said that he is off limits?_ Frost cackled.

Caitlin hushed her other self half-heartedly.

"Says the man who developed cure for cancer," she retorted, surprised when he gave that statement. God knows how many years of her university life she had to bear hearing her lecturers talking on and on about him and his continuous success and revolution in medical field. He was a favourite role model for the faculty members of her university that Caitlin was positive that she could recite his biography word to word since everyone talked about it all the time.

" _Experimental_ cure," he corrected, suddenly sounding more like a teacher. "We don't know how it would work in long term, or if it is even an effective cure. We don't even know if my patients could remain cancer-free until the end of their life. It's a fairly new medicine. There are still so many things that could go wrong."

 _Wise words_ , Frost commented, and Caitlin noted the impressed tone in her other self's voice. _Wells is right when he said he wanted this guy on the team._

 _We are not endangering his life, Frost._

"I read your works," Caitlin said when he started leading her to leave the graveyard. "And the journal updates of your project. Everything seems to be good so far," she smiled kindly. "You're a good man."

His lips quirked in that cocky mysterious half-smile that seemed so similar to Len's when the older vigilante knew something that she didn't.

"If something _do_ go wrong, will you still say the same?" he asked, his tone was almost taunting. He stepped in her path, leaning into her personal space, his green eyes seemed strangely dangerous that she had to stop the ice in her veins from reacting defensively. "If my _projects_ killed my _patients_ ….will you still say that I'm a good man?"

Caitlin felt uncomfortable. Frost felt threatened.

Barry continued to stare down at her, his gaze was challenging and taunting.

"You're trying to do good, your patients signed up to be part of your project," she finally blurted out, trying to not blow breath of ice to him. "It is wrong to condemn you when you have no intention to hurt anyone."

His eyes lit up, almost looking dangerously manic before they switched to the warm amused gaze of an impressed teacher. He didn't say anything as he walked away, letting her to follow his steps in complete confusion.

"Wise answer," he finally said as they reached his car, surprising Caitlin. He opened the passenger seat door for her, tilting his head as if instructing her to get in. "Want a ride home? It's gonna rain. It will get dark."

He said the last sentence in a hushed tone, almost like it was a taboo for him.

And the reality hit her again when she casted a quick wary look at the clouds, seeing the foreboding black clouds paraded right above their heads, ready to pour its content on them. At this rate, it will get a bit too dark to be safe.

The Scarlet Ripper loved to strike when it's dark anyway.

"If it doesn't bother you…," she agreed with a tiny little smile, more concerned of his safety rather than hers.

Len did theorise that since Iris was the first and only victim that was raped, perhaps the Ripper had his sight on her all along—and his sudden change in MO was probably because she had gotten herself a boyfriend and no longer had her sole attention on the serial killer. She didn't pay too much time investigating and chasing after Ripper since she started dating Barry after all. Perhaps her murder was jealousy-driven, as the note he left at CCPD hinted an extreme infatuation towards Iris.

Thus, Barry wasn't safe either.

No. Caitlin would not let the man be harmed. For Iris. And for the world.

The world couldn't afford to lose a great mind like Barry to a deranged serial killer like The Scarlet Ripper.

"Nah," he shrugged, opening the door a little wider. "I have nothing scheduled for the rest of the day. A de-tour from my usual route home isn't a bother."

"If you say so…," Caitlin agreed with muted thanks, climbing into the passenger seat of his car. She took note of the sleek interior, and the general design of this two-seat car that screamed 'speed' everywhere. This was the first thing that showed him as a young man in his twenties rather than the prodigal genius doctor people knew him as. Most of men his age usually preferred sleek fast cars rather than the more conservative functional ones. "You like fast cars," she stated as he was pulling his seatbelt.

"Oh?" he smiled sheepishly, seeming to be caught off-guard by her observation. "I guess so," he agreed, averting his gaze. "My _brothers_ aren't exactly a good influence. They like speed."

"Oh, you have brothers?" Caitlin blinked, shocked at that tidbit of information.

She had never heard of that. In his biography—be it the published ones or the one in Wikipedia—it was always stated that he was the only child of the famous neurologist Dr. Henry Allen, and his scientist wife, Dr. Nora Allen. There was no record of any siblings.

But then again, the Allen family was a secretive one despite their fame. Even Nora Allen's death had went under the radar for a full month before the stories leaked out. Barry's birth too was almost unknown to the public, if not due to a charity event when the late Nora Allen suddenly appeared with a pregnant belly and went into labour right when her husband was giving a speech. Their family matters were so hushed, until the sudden disappearance of Henry Allen that made the media crazy.

The media had went crazy when someone in CCPD leaked information that the elder doctor had went missing, leaving his then eighteen years old son alone.

It was a mystery, as no one had any idea where the old doctor went, but Barry has started to be more open to the mass ever since that, so that was the silver lining for that cold case.

Caitlin shot a questioning look at him when he remained silent, his eyes were on the street, through the splatters of rain that started falling, but Caitlin could figuratively saw the cogs in his prodigal genius brain working. She was curious, but she also didn't want to pry since this was technically the first day they officially introduced themselves to each other.

"I have brothers," he finally chuckled, completely avoiding meeting her gaze as he added, "a few of them, actually. All are outside of domains."

 _In another word, illegitimate brothers…._ , Frost commented dryly. _Make sense, with all the secretive bullshits going on with the Allen's family._

 _Frost_ , Caitlin warned.

 _Just pointing out the obvious_ , Frost deadpanned. _Outside of domains'. What a nice phrase to say it._

Before Caitlin could berate her other self again, his phone suddenly rang, attracting her attention instantly. He had placed his phone on the holder between their seats, so it was pretty close for her to read the name on his phone—oh, he had two phones.

 _Annoying Bro #2_ , Frost completely burst to a laughter upon seeing the name, amused with such childish name he had saved the caller as. _I want to meet these brothers of his. They seem like fun bunch of people._

He glanced just briefly to the name and quickly returned his gaze to the street, Caitlin could feel the thrum of his car as it significantly slowed down as he used only one hand to plug in the Bluetooth piece to his ear, an exasperated smile was on his face when it was obvious that the caller didn't even wait for a 'hello' and straight-up started ranting to his ear.

It was five minutes later when he finally spoke;

"Savvi, slow down. I don't understand speed-talk."

Caitlin's brows rose. That was not a common name. Perhaps his brother was in a weird gang or something?

 _Cute._

 _You called yourself 'Frost'. Do not judge the poor boy, Frosty._

 _To be fair, Cisco named me, Caity._

Caitlin rolled her eyes, resting her back at the plush softness of the leather seat, keeping her eyes on the jam-packed streets in front of them. It was the peak hours, the office hours have ended so the probability that they were going to be stuck here was a bit high; no matter how fast his car was, it couldn't breeze past a traffic jam.

Thus, she inevitably had to eavesdrop on his phone call. It was difficult to not do so. He was right beside her and didn't even seem to bother to hide his conversation from her.

"I did the test _twice_. There is nothing physically wrong with him."

There was a pause and suddenly, irritation smeared across his face.

"Bitch, I'm a surgeon. A doctor whose expertise lies in human's body. Not a motherfucking psychologist…," his voice sounded annoyed and exasperated at the same time. "This thing...that he is experiencing...it's psychological. It's out of my field."

His completely out-of-character speech surprised Caitlin but impressed Frost. He seemed to not notice her change of eye colour when Frost tried to come out to introduce herself to him, as he was completely focused on the street and to the caller.

He then let out a long suffering sigh.

"You're troublesome, you know?" He muttered, though his words afterwards were resigned. "Fine. Enlighten me."

There was a rather long pause as Caitlin noticed his frown grew more and more concerned, his lips pursed into a tight calculative line.

"And how often would he go into that trance?" He asked, his voice low and almost inaudible.

Pause.

"And he only allows _you_ to come near him?"

Pause. And then, he suddenly sighed.

"Look, I'm coming over soon, okay? Just…," he suddenly paused, his eyes darted in her direction, quirking a little smile when Caitlin blushed sheepishly and avoided his gaze, pretending that she wasn't eavesdropping. He exhaled, shifting his gaze back to the streets. "…Just try to keep _things_ under control... so that he didn't hurt anyone…," his gaze darted to her again, and he added, uncaring, almost like an afterthought, "…or himself. I'll call you back when I got home—"

He paused, before he suddenly broke to a humourless laugh as he carefully swerved his car into the empty parking space in front of Caitlin's apartment. When he had stopped and pulled the handbrake, a dry smirk was on his face.

"You know that breaking and entering is very frowned at in my society."

He stated that so casually, with a little fond smile like they had an inside joke there that made Caitlin wondered if his brother often broke into his house. Huffing, he bid his last goodbye to the caller and switched off his Bluetooth piece.

"Sorry about that," he smiled at her, resting one arm over the steering while the other rubbed his neck sheepishly.

 _Nervous tell_ , Frost provided unhelpfully.

"Handful brother?" Caitlin offered with a tiny grin.

He rolled his eyes. " _Handful_ didn't even describe him," he unlocked the door, his eyes crinkled with the bright smile as she climbed out of the car. He stretched slightly over the seat, half-leaning over the passenger seat as he bid her good bye. "Have a nice day, Dr. Snow."

"You too," she responded like an automated response, almost regretting her words right the next second when she remembered that he just lost his girlfriend to a gruesome murder. How could he even have a nice day after that? Biting her lips, she hesitantly said, "Barry...you know that Joe still sees you as his future son-in-law, right? You don't have to grieve alone."

His smile was unreadable, face a complete poker face while there was a strange glean in his eyes when he looked into hers.

"I know," he murmured, voice somehow dropped an octave lower, almost sounding cold and uncaring just for that slight short second before his bright smile wiped those all away. "Thank you for the concern."

With that, he retreated to his seat as she bid proper good byes and closed the door.

Only when she was fumbling with the keys did both she and Frost realised that they didn't even tell him her address.

* * *

 _ **A/n:** **Your comments and thoughts are greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading!**_


	3. An Impromptu Invitation

The darkness was comforting.

It used to be suffocating, living alone in this huge empty penthouse, but now it was comforting. The companionship that he craved since he was a child turned out to be a huge disappointment—an overrated idea of people who feared to be alone.

Speaking of overrated idea, love was one of the most exaggerated ideology in the world too.

Barry gritted his teeth, anger flashed up to his head and tainting his vision red.

He should've listened when his doppelgangers said that Iris West was bad news for him.

Striding down the dark hallway heading to his study, he started counting 100 backwards—in Latin—in a futile attempt to distract himself until the weird twisting feelings within his chest calmed down. The weird discomfort had grown and twisted in his chest the moment he suffocated Iris with chloroform, while the sharp unknown invisible pangs assaulted his heart the moment he drugged her to forever sleep. The invisible pain grew even worse as he watched her last dying breath left her. Though, he only felt pleasure and euphoria afterwards—when her unseeing eyes stared at him, tempting him to submit to his lust and fucked her corpse like there was no tomorrow.

Oddly enough, the weird feeling was back when the news was broken to him, it grew more painful when Joe collapsed in his arms, and he still remembered the emptiness that washed over him at the funeral earlier.

It was a weird feeling, and he didn't want it to be guilt, as he felt no guilt before—all of his previous victims never invoke such feelings for him, only pure satisfaction and euphoria once he was done turning them to masterpieces of art.

But this? This might feel like guilt.

If only he knew what guilt felt like.

Shaking his head, he tried to shrug the thoughts away and let the scanner scanned his retina, smiling when the AI unlocked the door. One would question why he had such high-security in his study, but every man has his own secrets and his secrets laid dormant in his study. He pushed the door to his study open with one shoulder, balancing the Styrofoam coffee holder in one hand and flicking the light switch with the other, honestly expecting an exasperating mess.

Savitar was not known to be on his best behaviour when he was agitated, after all.

Thus, he had to raise one shocked brow when the room was perfectly organized just like how he left it three months ago—nothing was out of place, except for the speedster who was lounging on his plush chair.

"You didn't make a mess," he commented blankly.

The speedster didn't even move, only his mismatched eyes rolled to the side to glare at him.

"How old do you think I am? Five?"

"I was thinking around seven or eight years old, but hey, anything that floats your boat."

There was a whoosh of breeze, some violent crackles of lightnings and the speedster was suddenly in front of him.

"Careful, _Dr. Allen_ ," Savitar hissed, bringing one vibrating hand up and gently place it against his chest—the vibration sent odd tingle through his layers of clothes. "I can kill you in a flash."

"You would kill yourself?" Barry cocked an eyebrow.

The speedster shrugged, cold and uncaring.

"Not my first time."

Barry snorted. Ordinary men would have quaked in fear at that threat, but he was no ordinary man. He had his fair share of blood on his hands too, and he killed for leisure and stress-relief purposes—he was hardly an innocent man after all. To him, Savitar was just another killer from alternate universe, nothing overly intimidating at all. The hand that was resting against his chest continued vibrating, but he ignored the silent threat, squared his shoulders and pushed the warm coffee against Savitar's chest.

"Coffee?"

Savitar's mismatched eyes darted down to the Styrofoam cup between their bodies before his lips quirked to an amused smirk. He finally removed that vibrating hand from Barry's chest, taking the cup without so much of a thank you. Barry shook his head, an amused smile grew on his face too when Savitar flashed back to lounge on the chair—the speedster has his feet on the polished table, knowing full well that Barry hated such behaviour, all the while smirking tauntingly as if he was trying to egg Barry on.

Barry ignored the urge to swat those feet off his table and leant against the edge of the polished wood, sipping on his own coffee, waiting for his counterpart to start speaking.

It was a long silence before Savitar finally spoke.

"We told you so."

Barry huffed a monotonous laugh. "And I didn't listen."

They fell into deafening silence again.

"Savitar."

"What?" Come the harsh reply.

"Do you regret it?" Barry murmured, staring into the swirling darkness of his coffee, feeling the discomfort twisted in his chest again as he hesitantly added, "…when you killed your Iris?"

Savitar was silent for a moment before he snorted, the sound was bitter and irritated. "I didn't kill my Iris."

Barry's brows rose to his hairline.

"She killed me instead," the speedster's tone was flat and monotonous, though it grew agitated as he resumed, "…she shot me right through the head. I died on the spot."

That was not something that Barry expected to hear.

"But yet you're here," he deadpanned, gesturing a hand along the length of the lounging speedster. "Alive and kicking."

"Every speedster returned to the speedforce once their life perished."

"So the speedforce is like what, purgatory for speedsters?"

"Yep."

"How the hell are you still alive then?"

Savitar's lips stretched to a manic grin.

"The Flash's hatred was enough to resurrect the dead," he hummed, resting his head more comfortably against the soft headrest, mismatched eyes remained staring at the ceiling. "He needed power. I _am_ power. It isn't hard for him to bend the speedforce to his will and resurrect me."

"Terrifying," Barry commented.

"Beautiful," Savitar countered, eyes still staring blankly at the ceiling. "I hate my original…But him? This hateful Barry Allen?" he huffed, lips curled to that manic grin again. "He is beautiful."

Barry was so sorely tempted to comment that Savitar sounded like he was infatuated with the Flash, but the connotation of that idea was still too strange for Barry himself. That honestly sounded like a fucked up narcissistic infatuation—and this was coming from him, a hobbyist artist whose favourite medium was dead bodies.

Heck, he was still getting used to the idea that there was more than one universe—and apparently majority of his doppelgangers out there were speedsters—so the idea of any versions of himself being infatuated with each other still send weird vibes down his spine.

And Savitar wasn't the type who would admit that he was infatuated, so the probability for Barry to have that vibrating hand through his chest if he dared to comment was so high.

Barry then decided to play safe. "Your power is both a curse and a gift."

Savitar's grin faded. "It's more of a curse now," his voice was almost inaudible, soft and—god forbade—laced with hints of concern. "For _him_."

Barry pursed his lips thoughtfully. He discovered the multiverse a couple of months ago, when he made a slip while leaving his Christmas victim at the mall and almost got caught. He managed to escape the police because the Flash zipped him away—apparently his past time hobby had amused the visiting speedster so much that the Flash refused to see Barry arrested.

Imagine his surprise when he saw his own face once the cowl was removed.

He somehow had become the Flash's second doctor ever since that day. Killer Frost could only do so much in between working to wipe out all the heroes on the Dark Earth and trying to monitor Flash's chaotic health, so the woman was grateful for Barry's expertise on their side. Moreover, with the Flash's unstable health, Killer Frost really needed the extra hand Barry provided to help the speedster. They grew a form of friendship—he gave her the medical expert counterpart she didn't have, and she introduced him to the beauty of meta-gene.

It was a beautiful irony, when Barry was a best friend with Killer Frost but a nemesis to Frost the Central City's hero.

"None of you have any idea of what is ailing Barry?" he murmured, tasting the weirdness of saying his own name to refer to his doppelganger, but he was getting better at it.

They called him 'Ripper' on their Earth anyway, so there wasn't much confusion.

"Any theory at all?" He prompted again when Savitar remained silent.

"We have too many hypothesis," Savitar's shoulder moved just slightly in a shrug. "As for now, I'm inclined to Ronnie's theory—Barry is like an overcharged battery."

"Overcharged battery?" Ripper frowned. Metahuman physiology was still a new concept for him after all. "And that would translate to what exactly?"

"They blocked his power for how long? Eight? Ten years when he was in prison?" the scarred speedster snorted. "The speedforce was not made to be constrained. It accumulated inside him all those years, constrained like a ticking bomb without an outlet to be released, so when he snapped, and the second lightning hit him, it multiplied and expanded."

There was a pregnant silence as Ripper tried to digest that information.

"One body couldn't hold that much energy….," he finally concluded, having witnessed first-hand one of his doppelganger's episodes—when the Flash seemed to be stuck in a murderous trance. "It drove him crazy."

Ripper remembered his last visit there, when he attended to the Flash after the man collapsed and writhed in pain, only to meet the dilated unfocused pupils of the eyes so similar like the ones he saw in the mirror every morning. He was then completely stunned in horror upon seeing the black lightnings in those eyes as the Flash murmured on and on of not wanting to be hurt anymore before flashing away—it then took a combined effort of Savitar, Killer Frost, Deathstorm and a horde of metahumans that he didn't personally know to stop the Flash's murderous rampage.

He honestly thought that the rampage was a one-time thing.

But apparently it has gotten worst, along with the Flash's worsening paranoia and continuous nightmares, if Savitar's rant was any indicator, those murderous episodes have become more and more frequent as the Flash continuously buzzed in high-scale energy.

Overcharged battery indeed.

And Killer Frost discouraged his visits to that Earth ever since, as a precaution for Ripper's own safety. It was too dangerous for non-powered human to stand near the Flash when they have no idea if he was going to snap and got caught in that trance again.

It didn't stop Savitar from calling or visiting him on his Earth to vent about the Flash though.

Not that he was complaining. Savitar was a perfect partner-in-crime.

"Should I try to infiltrate Team Frost?" Ripper pondered out loud, glancing at his scarred doppelganger to see if his words invoked any reaction. There was a slight interested arch of Savitar's brow, so he shrugged and sipped on his coffee, "Dr. Wells created the metahumans, he might notice something that we missed."

Savitar snorted, his voice was a lazy drawl when he spoke;

"Ripper, you're their arch nemesis."

Ripper flashed his teeth in a taunting grin. "They didn't know that," he hummed, placing his cup down and leant over his chair, getting into Savitar's personal space.

The scarred speedster grimaced.

"I mean, who would've thought that the poor Dr. Allen…," Ripper started, mocking a sad broken voice, "…who lost his mother at such young age, abandoned by his father when he just stepped into adulthood, whose girlfriend just recently being brutally murdered," he huffed sardonically, "…who developed the cure for cancer, who read to sick children and is everyone's favourite professor in CCU…," he murmured, eyes glinted dangerously as he leant even closer to the speedster, trying to invoke more than the uncomfortable grimace on the other man's face, but to no avail, Savitar didn't yield. "…. Who would've thought that such perfect citizen is actually the infamous Scarlet Ripper?" he barked out an amused laugh, remembering Caitlin's shy smile and assuring words earlier. "Not them," he shook his head mockingly, "…Not our heroes."

Savitar's lips curled to a grin. "Keep your enemies close, huh?"

Ripper's grin mirrored the one on the speedster's face. He reached a hand to touch the twisted burnt skin on the right half of Savitar's face, tracing his thumb over the ugly ridges of the scar in a slow caressing motion until the speedster's mismatched eyes slid close, a desolate sigh escaped his lips.

Ripper wondered if Savitar even knew that he had an obvious tell. That he was so easily weakened with gentle physical touch on his scarred body. It was so easy to get Savitar pliant and listening. Touch the right spot, and he would be pleased enough to pay attention to you.

So easy…

"You know…," he started, letting his words hanged until Savitar's eyes fluttered open again. "You're stressed over Barry's condition," he murmured, pressing just slightly over the embossed vein on the speedster's temple, but it was enough to invoke a soft moan from the man.

Too much stress could make even the most stubborn speedster moaned to a simple head massage.

"I'm not worrying over that old man…," Savitar murmured, almost looking like he couldn't focus with the way he was leaning towards Ripper's fingers that were massaging his temple. "It is just annoying that they would call me whenever he snapped. It ruined my sleep schedule."

Ripper rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"It has been almost two weeks since I killed Iris. I'm nearing my next deadline," he smirked, tilting his head, his expression was sardonic and prompting. "Want to accompany me terrorize this city?"

Savitar gave him a lazy half-smirk, the gleam in his mismatched eyes were almost teasing as he drawled;

"Only if you pay for dinner."

Ripper rolled his eyes again, this time with a scowl.

"I'm not taking you out on a date, Savvi."

"Aw, come on."

* * *

Tonight's patrol was great, even with Iris' absence in the cortex.

It was just Cold and Frost who were out patrolling the city tonight, since Lisa have a morning shift tomorrow while stayed at home for a private dinner with his daughter, thus leaving Cisco handling the cortex alone. It seemed like a good night—no signs of Scarlet Ripper, no rogue metahumans on the loose and no fire that demanded instant attention. They did stop a few muggings and one domestic violence, but otherwise, it could be considered a peaceful night.

Or so they thought.

"Frosty, I think Scarlet brought a date."

Frost jerked her head up upon hearing that, sending a kick to the mugger's stomach and handcuffed him with her ice as she whipped around to the terrified elderly couple she just rescued. She waved them away, urging the couple to get out of the dark alley before turning to the opposite way and broke to a run, one hand pressing up to her comms as she hissed back;

"That's impossible. Scarlet Ripper worked alone."

"Nuh-uh. He brought a date," came the lazy drawl from her comm. "A speedster."

"Dude, what? Speedster? Is it Zoom?" That was Cisco, spluttering in panic.

"We turned Zoom to shaved ice last year, Ramon."

"Boys," Frost hissed when she heard the beginning of Cisco's retort, creating an ice slide to rush towards the blinking dot of the older vigilante. "Cisco, shut up. And Cold, do not engage them. Speedsters are bad news."

"Why the hell do you think I'm here waiting for you?"

Frost rolled her eyes. "Are there any civilian around?"

"Not that I can see…," Cold murmured, his voice trailed softer before the comms crackled in statics and his distorted voice yelled back at her. "Wait, fall back. Fall back. This is a tra—"

Frost's blood ran cold when she heard scuffles from Cold's end.

"Cold? Cold? COLD?!" she yelled to the comms, frantic and panicked, before her eyes flashed brown for a split second as she tried again, "Len?"

"Poor Lenny is currently out of commission."

It wasn't her comrade's lazy drawl than answered her.

Frost's eyes turned white again, a growl ripped from her throat. "Ripper…."

"Nah, he is _busy_ _too_. I'm his date."

Frost briefly heard an annoyed snort from the other end before it was followed with the muffled mutter from the now familiar altered voice through the comms;

"I'm still not paying your dinner."

"Aw, _Ripper_ , come on."

"Nope."

Frost held back the urge to yell at the comms as the clear vibrating voice of the speedster and the muffled altered voice of Scarlet Ripper went back and forth, arguing playfully about dinner. She wanted to yell at them. This nonchalant argument over who paid for dinner? It was an insult. How dare they looked down on her like this. Cisco had sent Cold's coordinate to her scouter—the readings on the sleek translucent blue glass of her right eye told her that Cold was still alive, but barely. The older man's vitals were dropping, his blood pressure was decreasing while his heartbeats increased—

 _Class 3 haemorrhage_ , Caitlin provided at the back of her head, worried. _We need to hurry, Frost._

 _I know_ , Frost bit back, agitated now. They were so close to his location now. _Lenny wouldn't die, Cait. I promise._

 _I trust you_ , Caitlin's voice was so soft, echoing in her mind before she faded into their shared sub-conscious, giving Frost the chance to fully concentrate on the fight.

She leapt to a graceful landing in the middle of the dark alleyway, surprised to see that the speedster was already waiting for her.

"Ah, about time."

Frost glared at the blurred silhouette of the unknown speedster. What a cocky bastard. He didn't even wear any masks to conceal his identity, but merely vibrated himself till all that Frost could see was the blur of colour and his ill-looking crackles of red-yellow lightnings. He had his arms spread, as if welcoming her, his vibrating voice was alluringly smooth and taunting;

"I'm getting bored," the speedster flashed to directly stand in front of her. He was still vibrating, but his voice was clearer when he mock-whined, "Entertain me, Caitlin."

Frost gaped at him.

"What's the matter, _Caitlin_?" he mocked, his vibrating voice thrummed with laughter. "You're _frozen_ in shock."

 _Frost…ice his ass,_ Caitlin growled from the depth of her mind—snapping Frost out of her shocked stupor—for once being the violent one between the two of them.

Frost nodded and blasted an ice directly to his chest.

"Not fast enough, Cait," the speedster laughed, evading each ice blast that she directed at him. He kept zipping around—up and down left and right and across the grimy walls of the buildings around them, mocking her every time she failed to hit him.

He didn't attempt to attack her, only running and evading, making it seemed like a game between the two of them. He targeted her blind spot, appearing behind her—his lips were surprisingly soft when he kissed her cheek—only to cackle maniacally when the sharp slab of ice she intended for his vibrating blurred body only hit the empty air. Frost was getting agitated for each second that passed, as he continued mocking her, running and evading but only to appear out of nowhere to kiss her cheek or pat her head—she honestly felt degraded, like he was treating her like a child.

It was worst than if she was actually hurt from his attacks.

Her ego was severely wounded.

"Frost!" Cisco's sudden voice from her comms halted her continuous blast of ice. "Cold's vitals!"

It was then she realised his true intention. He was distracting her from running to aid her comrade.

"That's enough."

Though, before she could even aim a wrathful blast of ice towards the speedster, the modulated voice of Scarlet Ripper echoed in the dark alleyway as he finally straightened from his crouch, and only then did Frost finally notice that the serial killer was taking advantage on the distraction the speedster had provided.

He was crouching over Cold's bloodied body.

"Cold!" she yelled, hoping to see at least a sign of life from her friend but to no avail, there was no respond.

There was a pool of blood underneath the older man's body, his breathing was quick and ragged—he had lost too much blood that Frost knew it was a miracle that he was still conscious. Frost saw the glint of a knife disappearing into Ripper's scarlet trench coat, the serial killer tilted his head in her direction, dirty blonde hair swept over his eyes due to the movement, a smirk grew on his face as if he was mocking her. The shadow fell onto his masked face, through Frost could still see the outline of his manic grin, the golden cross of his chain earring gleamed in the dark.

Frost wasn't even religious, but it still pissed her off on how nonchalantly he mocked a symbol of religion by wearing it while committing his heinous crimes.

"Aww, but I wanna play," the speedster mock-whined again, still a blur, even though he has adopted a casual position sitting on the ledge of the fire escape.

"No. Time for both of us to go home, speedy."

"You're no fun."

"I've got what I wanted," The Scarlet Ripper huffed and threw a dagger in the direction of the speedster's blurring head.

Needless to say, that the dagger vanished mid-air and the speedster was suddenly behind Ripper, pressing the tip of the dagger against the serial killer's neck, a trickle of blood dripped down his neck.

"Know your place, _Ripper_."

Ripper wasn't even fazed. "Kill me and you lose half your chance to heal _him_."

Frost barely able to do anything when the speedster let out a low irritated growl before the two of them disappeared from her sight, vanishing in the trails of lightning. She stared in disbelief at the now empty alley before Cisco's and Caitlin's urgent voices from both her comms and her subconscious had her rushing towards Cold. The man was barely conscious, eyes closed and breathing ragged as he drowned in his own blood. There were multiple incisions on his body—deliberately inflicted wounds that targeted his major arteries, causing him to bleed to death. Frost tried to stop the bleeding, applying pressure on his wounds but Cold's vitals continued to drop, heading to a point of no return.

"Cisco, where is the nearest hospital?!"

"Central General Hospital is a couple blocks away…," the scientist paused, before he started shouting to her ear. "Gurl, you can't bring him to a hospital! It'll expose our operation."

"To hell with our operation!"

"But—"

"Len do not have superhealing, Cisco!"

"It'll expose Team Frost!"

Frost was so close to blow her own top.

"HE NEEDS A MOTHERFUCKING SURGERY, CISCO!"

Cisco went silent after that. There were a few seconds of silence as Frost tried to carry Cold in her arms, struggling to create an ice slide while balancing the man—super strength wasn't exactly gifted to her—only to blink in shock upon hearing the calm gentle voice at the other end of her comms.

"Frost?"

"Dr. Wells?"

She wasn't expecting him to be there. He was supposedly spending tonight with his daughter as it was the anniversary of his wife's death. Though, Frost didn't have time to question him, she honestly appreciated his calm, wise input in this time of desperate needs. Frost's eyes turned to warm brown as tears fell down her cheeks when Cold started to lose consciousness in her arms, his breathing slowed down, heartbeats getting too slow to be safe.

No. She can't lose another friend.

She had sworn to protect her remaining friends—to not fail them like she failed Iris.

"Frost, _Caitlin_ ," Dr. Wells spoke all too softly, as if he knew of Caitlin's inner turmoil. "Calm down, okay? We're going to save Len. He is going to be fine."

Caitlin nodded even though she knew that there was no way for him to see her.

"We have to break our promise to Iris," the older man murmured, and Caitlin felt Frost tried to regain control again. She submitted, allowing her eyes to shift colour again when Wells added, "he is the best in the nation. He is our best hope to save Len."

"Barry," Frost said stiffly, knowing full well where the old scientist was heading. The man was their best bet, and their location wasn't far from the surgeon's permanent residence anyway, just a block away. "I'm on my way."

She ignored the strain on her arms, cradling Cold close to her chest as she made her way to his penthouse. She wasn't going to fail again. Not now. Not after Iris. She could barely face Joe during Iris' funeral, how could she face Lisa if anything happened to Len? At least Joe still have Wally. The Snart siblings only have each other.

No. She couldn't let Len died too.

Thus, politeness be damned when she broke into his house, crashing through the first window she thought could fit the both of them. She ended up in his bathroom, and somehow managed to minimize the shattering glass using her ice while shielding Cold from any more injuries.

"What the fu—?"

Barry's face when they crashed into his bathroom while he was mid-shaving was hilariously candid.

Though, Frost had to wince when she saw the trickle of blood down the man's neck, her unannounced entrance had surely made him nicked his own neck. Fearing for the fading heartbeats of her injured friend, Frost retreated, letting the ice in her veins receded to her heart as her hair slowly turned from white to mahogany, her eyes flashed warm brown again.

She slowly looked up, cradling Cold tighter to her chest as she hoped and prayed that Barry wouldn't be too mad over his ruined house and would still be willing to help them.

"Please save my friend," she begged, voice broken.

It only took Barry one glance towards Cold for him to shift into surgeon mode. He was suddenly moving, rinsing the remaining foam off from his neck and jaw and it shouldn't surprise Caitlin that he had disinfectant right there in his medical cabinet. In one swift movement, he pushed all of his toiletries off the counter, snapping on a latex glove on before she could even blink and he had Cold spread out on the counter in a matter of seconds.

She watched in awe. Such calmness, even amid the shock of her surprise entrance.

"Savvi!" he yelled to the door, and Caitlin suddenly remembered from their conversation earlier of the day that his 'outside of domain' brother had broken into his house.

Caitlin's gaze fell onto her own body. Her secret identity!

She was still in Frost's costume after all.

He quirked a little smile in her direction and used one hand to throw an oversized shirt at her. "Change," he instructed, turning his back on her, his eyes were focused on stabilizing her friend. "Hurry!"

She was stashing her chemically compressed costume into her necklace when the bathroom door was slowly slid open and someone hesitantly peeked in.

Something twisted in her chest.

Oh, his brother seemed so pure.

The young man didn't seem like he was any older or younger than Barry himself, but the way he shyly peeked into the bloodied bathroom made him looked years younger than Barry. Perhaps it has something to do with the way he was constantly avoiding eye contact with her, looking away bashfully when she tried to meet his gaze, or to the way half of his face was burnt beyond repair and his mismatched eyes widened upon witnessing the scene in front of him. The young man trembled, his light chestnut hair fell over his mismatched eyes, arms came up to hug himself as he watched Barry worked, seeming like he wanted to bolt away from the scene but unable to because his brother needed his aid.

"I need my kit. And more towels," Barry instructed without even looking at his brother, and it amused Caitlin, the way the mismatched eyes lowered as he nodded and ran away, only to return with Barry's bag and a bunch of towels not a minute after that.

Damn, the kid was fast.

"Caitlin," Barry addressed her then, glancing just briefly at her as he nodded in the direction of the scarred young man who was half-hiding behind the door. "Go with him. I'll save your friend."

She was hesitant at first, but he urged her on.

"Go," he said, turning his attention back to Len. "You're no help to me when you're in shock yourself," he murmured, eyes completely on the wounds he was working on. "Savvi, get her some tea or anything."

With that, he literally kicked her out of the bathroom and slammed the door in her face, leaving her in the dimness of his hallway with the scarred young man—whom she assumed as his younger brother. The young man tugged lightly on her sleeves, looking away bashfully when she looked up at him as he led her to the living room. He left her alone after that, disappearing into the kitchen, before returning with two mugs of tea and a plate of cookies that he balanced in his hands. He was silent, almost muted when he placed a mug in front of her and retreated to the far end of the couch opposite to her, clutching his own mug like his life was depending on it, all the while curling himself up against one of the gigantic plush cushion, hiding the scarred half of his face behind the cushion as if he was ashamed to show his face to Caitlin.

Caitlin's heart twisted in pity at that sight.

What a poor boy.

She wanted to talk to him, but he continued to hide his marred face behind the cushion, shaking and tensing up when she tried to sit beside him, only relaxing when Caitlin retreated to the opposite sofa. They remained in silence for what it felt for hours, and by the time Barry stepped into the living room, the first light has emerged far at the horizon.

He gave her a tired smile but didn't say anything as he strode to his brother, whom to her surprise, was asleep curled up against the cushion—he was hiding his face too much that Caitlin didn't notice when he fell asleep. Barry gave her an exasperated smile when the scarred young man didn't wake up even after Barry shook his shoulders a few times. She smiled back, her smile grew fonder when Barry effortless carried him away—presumably to the bedroom so that he could get proper sleep.

Caitlin was itching to peek into the bathroom to see how Len was doing but she restrained herself from doing so.

She had been imposing way too much on Barry to display such rudeness to his hospitality.

The surgeon returned with a tired lag in his steps, and bloodshot eyes, although his smile was warm and charming as ever. He let out a huge yawn, invoking a guilty wince from Caitlin when his exhaustion showed in his lagging steps, slouched shoulders, tired bloodshot eyes and disheveled chestnut hair—but he remained smiling when he sat across her.

"Your friend is stable," he said through a huge yawn and rubbed his eyes gingerly, "…although he needs more blood transfusion and close monitoring for a few more weeks," he smiled, yawning again, "…but he is going to be fine after lots of rest."

Caitlin released the breath of relief she didn't know she was holding. "Thank you, Barry."

Barry shrugged, giving her that gentle smile again that made Caitlin knew exactly why Iris had fallen for this man.

His tired gaze met her eyes, and she knew that he was waiting for an explanation. It wasn't every day the city's resident hero crashed into your house begging you to fix her injured friend after all. He continued staring, not even showing any sign of perplexation or shock—just curiosity and awe in those green eyes—when Caitlin woke Frost up, summoning her vigilante counterpart so that they could explain this together. Her eyes remained warm brown even though her hair had turned frosty white when she started talking;

"My name is Caitlin Snow," she exhaled, tentatively raising her gaze to meet his curious eyes. "And I'm the coldest woman alive," she waited for him to comment, but he remained silent, giving her room to talk without interruptions. She exhaled again, feeling guilty for betraying Iris like this—her best friend had tried her best to keep Barry out of this loop, but she ruined the effort literally the day of her funeral. "To the outside world, I'm just an ordinary doctor, but secretly, along with my friends at Starlabs, I fight crimes as—"

"The Frost," he murmured, his lips curled to a genuine smile that crinkled his eyes. "It's a pleasure to know the face behind the city's favourite superhero."

He said that so earnestly and calmly that Caitlin couldn't stop the blush from rising to her cheeks.

Frost on the other hand, rolled her eyes at the depth of her mind. _So much for him being off limits…._

 _Frost._

 _I'm just saying…He is way too calm and accepting when we literally crashed into his house uninvited._

 _He is just being kind. Without him, Len would have died._

 _Sure, sure, Caity. Whatever floats your iceberg._

Caitlin sent a mental pout to Frost and shifted her attention back to Barry. Then, the story spilled. She told him about how the particle accelerator explosion had changed her and so many others, and how she and Team Frost had decided to protect the city ever since—all the while avoiding any mention of Iris and Joe, opting for general term of 'Team Frost' to refer to them. Throughout her storytelling, he was resting the side of his face on his palm, his elbow rested on his knee—looking both intrigued and halfway to sleep at the same time. Caitlin felt a tug of guilt upon remembering that she had costed him his rest time when she begged for his help. He didn't complain though, but instead simply offered to brew coffee for her once she was done with her story, specifically asking her preference of her coffee—the perfect gentleman he was.

When he handed her coffee to her, he finally asked the question that she dreaded the most.

"Iris knew about this, didn't she?"

Caitlin swallowed too quickly on the hot coffee, not wanting to answer the question.

They all knew that the source of their argument that night was because of Iris' involvement with Team Frost and his own busy schedule made it hard for the couple to be together. Iris always ditched Barry in the middle of a date so that she could monitor the cortex for Frost, despite him taking the effort to make room in his forever busy schedule for their date—so it was reasonable for Caitlin to blame herself for the strain in the couple's relationship. Swallowing back the bile at the back of her throat, Caitlin murmured softly;

"She doesn't want to put your life in danger, Barry."

"But it's okay to put _hers_ in danger?"

Caitlin has no answer for that.

"All these times I thought she didn't care about me…," he murmured, shaking his head, regret was thick in his voice. "All these times she ditched me without reasons…," he let out a deep sigh, avoiding meeting her gaze completely, "…it was to save the city."

Caitlin felt really, really guilty.

Thus, without thinking, she placed her hand on his arm, clutching tightly as she blurted out;

"Join us."

He blinked blankly.

"Join us. In her stead. Help us protect the city that she loved. Help us bring her murderer to justice."

Barry cocked an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on her warm brown eyes. She tightened her grip on his arm, pressing a bit more;

"Your expertise would be a great help to us. Please, join us."

Barry simply smiled at her words.

"I'll think about it when my head doesn't feel like it is stuffed with cotton, okay?"

Caitlin broke to a tiny excited grin, nodding eagerly.

He then tipped his head slightly, eyes hooded in exhaustion when he handed her a set of his clothes she didn't notice he had brought. She looked up at him, confused.

"Iris' clothes were at our old apartment. You'll have to make do with my clothes."

She continued staring at him, still confused above all.

He quirked a tired amused smile.

"It has been a long night for us both. You can crash in my guest's room. Up the stairs, third door to your right," he smiled, cradling his coffee tightly to his chest even though he looked like he was going to pass out right there. "I've transferred your friend at the room next to yours, so if you want to check on him, feel free to do so," he added, placing his mug away as he stretched and let out a huge yawn. "I'm calling in sick anyway."

Caitlin watched the way his exhaustion seemed to affect his movement and quickly dished out apologies;

"Barry, I'm sorry—"

"A superhero needs her sleep," he cut off her words, giving her a sleepy wink and brushed her hair back.

Caitlin had never flushed that pink before.

* * *

 **A/N: This Barry Allen is manipulative AF, don't you think so? And Savitar is enjoying his fake role waaay too much.**

 **Read and review, everyone! I love hearing your thoughts!**


	4. New Comrade?

When Barry returned to his room with the full intention to go to sleep, he was greeted with a pillow to his face the moment he pushed the door open.

"Fuck you."

He didn't even flinch at the blatant rudeness, only opting to bend down and grab the abused pillow.

"Very mature, Savitar," he sighed, striding towards his bed and this time has no restrains over kicking the speedster off his bed. "And do not wear shoes in my bedroom."

The speedster didn't even budge. Instead, he hissed at Barry in utter disbelief;

"You dropped me."

"You're heavy."

"You _dropped_ ME."

"It's not like Frost saw I dropped you."

"You fucking dropped me. How dare you—"

Barry rolled his eyes.

He honestly was considering talking to the Flash so that the older speedster would stop spoiling Savitar.

This scarred speedster was spoiled waaayy too much.

Savitar was too full of himself sometimes—expecting people to treat him like he was some kind of divine god.

And Barry fully blamed the Flash for this spoiled behaviour.

It wasn't like it would actually hurt Savitar when Barry dropped him the moment they were out of Frost's sight. No, Savitar was far tougher than him, considering that he was a metahuman with super-healing. Barry's poor arms would hurt for a much longer time due to the strain of carrying the speedster as compared to the little pain Savitar potentially felt when Barry unceremoniously dropped him onto the floor.

So, the speedster shouldn't even complain.

The acting was no longer necessary when their audience couldn't see them.

This carefully staged assault on Cold was to lower the vigilante's guard, allowing easy way for Barry to infiltrate Team Frost. Barry picked up this strategy from the Flash, having noticed how easy it was for the speedster to bend people to his will when he staged them to be dependent on his influence and power. It was even easier to gain Frost's trust when Savitar seemed to take pleasure in playing the role of the shy and bashful younger brother for Barry, manipulating Caitlin's natural compassion towards adorable helpless creature.

Barry didn't expect for it to work—for Savitar to pull the role off successfully, knowing what kind of man the speedster really was—but it was oddly amusing to see Caitlin's eyes softened around the psychopathic speedster, the woman was not even aware that the man she was looking at with fondness and pity could easily and happily drove his hand through her chest.

His doppelgangers were truly a bad influence on him.

"You're supposed to be the nice big brother to this poor, scarred, _adorable_ illegitimate younger brother of yours—" Savitar complained, attempting a failure of puppy eyes as he emphasized on the word 'adorable'.

Barry huffed and rubbed his bloodshot eyes, mumbling through a yawn, "Savitar, we are at the same age."

"Frost didn't know that. And speedster gene makes me look younger."

"Come on. I _do_ look younger than you when I act cute and helpless."

Barry groaned in annoyance.

"How exactly does Barry stand you?" He grumbled under his breath, asking the real question now; "How exactly does my dear doppelganger survive living with _you_?"

Savitar flashed him a teasing grin.

"He couldn't get enough of this sexy body."

There was a beat of silence as Barry tried to stop his brain from digesting that information.

Nope. Nope. Nope. It was way too early of the morning for his thoughts to go _that_ way.

"Ugh. TMI, Savvi," he groaned, not wanting the mental images of having sex with any version of himself ruined his morning with an embarrassing arousal, no matter how true Savitar was with the sexy body thing—he still valued his life enough to not submit underneath the speedster's mercy. "TMI."

To the great relief of his exhausted body and groggy mind, the speedster decided to end the matter at that, kicking his shoes away and climbed up the bed to stretch across Barry's bed. Barry sat at the edge of the bed, feeling his consciousness giving up on him—his perfectionist nature was biting his ass again. His decision to deliberately inflict near-fatal injuries onto Cold seemed so wise yesterday, but now it felt like a really bad idea. That decision caused him to spend the whole night fixing the man, an elaborate effort that could easily be avoided if only he opted to inflict superficial injuries that seemed serious but could easily be fixed without much effort.

Plus, the fact that he had to quickly change out of his Scarlet Ripper costume after being zipped off from the scene by a speedster had made his head a bit dizzy by the time Frost crashed into his bathroom.

The end result of this whole disastrous plan?

It was this exhaustion that clouded his mind and made him want to sleep for the rest of the day.

Man, his planning wasn't as perfect as it used to be ever since he murdered Iris.

That woman turned his life upside down in more than one way.

He still missed her, though.

He exhaled a heavy breath, trying to dispel the uncomfortable twisting feeling deep within his chest as he remembered the short months he shared with her. It was some of the best months in his life, as he finally has the chance to enjoy the emotional connection he was depraved of. She was the first human he managed to make emotional connection with, since his own parents only saw him as a prodigal brain and not as the son that needed their love so much. He could still feel the ghosts of her gentle touches—despite now he knew how fake those touches were, as she intended them as a tool to lower his guard. Despite her lies, he still longed for the warmth of her soft body in his arms, wanting her gentle voice soothed him to sleep, craving for the comfort her love offered like an addict craving for drugs.

Why must he have such bad luck in romance?

He glanced to his side, where Savitar was oddly silent, arms crossed over his chest, breathing slow and deep, mismatched eyes fixed on the ceiling although it was obvious that the speedster's mind was somewhere else—and if Barry was going to guess, the scarred speedster was thinking of the Flash. Narcissism aside, the two speedsters had a strange and confusing relationship that somehow worked despite all odds. It was a bit too painful for Barry, to know that these two versions of himself also had a bad history with their respective Iris—one was apparently betrayed by his Iris while the other was killed by her—and yet they still found solace in each other.

Maybe Barry should consider a twisted narcissistic relationship with one of his doppelgangers too.

At least he knew that he wouldn't have to face betrayal again.

Barry laughed humourlessly at the pathetic thought, shaking his head when Savitar shot a confused gaze at him.

He needed to stop thinking. This silence was supposedly a good chance for him to fall asleep, not making him revaluate his life choices.

The silence grew even more comforting as Savitar's body heat felt irresistibly warm to his exhausted body—a contrast against the air-conditioned room—his mind was so close to shutting down on him and he didn't realise that he had climbed onto the bed to curl up against the irresistible warmth of the speedster and promptly fell asleep right there, head nestled on the fluttering fast heartbeats that thumped against the hard, toned chest—

Though, in his dream, the heartbeats were calmer and slower while the body he was curled up to was much softer—

And _her_ smile was as soothing and loving as ever.

* * *

Caitlin wasn't expecting to meet Len's eyes when she woke up.

"You're awake!" She shot up to a sitting position, her voice high from shock and joy, but she was still being mindful to not jar his body.

He didn't respond, but instead, continued to stare at her with glazed blue eyes, causing Caitlin to worry a bit.

"Len?"

"Cait….," he mumbled, voice groggy.

Caitlin winced, imagining the teasing that would followed since it was obvious that she was caught curled up asleep beside him. Barry had given her the permission to crash in his guest's room, but she felt claustrophobic in the big empty room, despite the luxurious comfy furniture that decorated the space.

It was too big and too lonely.

She felt a sense of emphatic then, now understanding why Barry so happily left this luxurious penthouse and moved into a simple two-bedroom apartment with Iris. It must have been claustrophobically lonely to live here alone by his own.

It wasn't like the prodigal doctor was known to have an active social life anyway—his life only revolved around his work at the hospital and the CCU as well as his occasional voluntarism at the orphanage and animal shelter.

And people said that Caitlin didn't have a social life.

The suffocating feeling did not help Caitlin to fall asleep at all, hence, she had gone to the room next door where Len was surprisingly hooked up with IV and heartbeat monitor—it seemed that Barry brought his work home with him—and relaxing was easier after that as her heart gained comfort from the beeping sound of the machine.

It was a reminder that her friend was thankfully still alive.

Thus, with the exhaustion from yesterday's action finally caught on her, she carefully climbed onto the huge bed and laid beside him, craving the assurance of his body heat and wanting to drive away the awaiting nightmares of yet loosing another comrade. She fell asleep almost instantly, her back lined against his side—his body warmth and the steady beeping sound of the heartbeat machine lulled her to a peaceful dreamless sleep.

The sun seemed too bright through the blinds by the time she woke up, but she didn't care about that as she had all of her attention on her injured comrade.

"How're you feeling, Len?" she murmured, placing her cold hand gently over his bandaged hand.

She shuddered upon remembering the wound underneath the bandage, the straight clean vertical cut on his wrist—a wound that could be fatal if he wasn't given emergency help. Len's icy blue eyes still stared at her in that glazed, dreamy look, as if this was the first time he saw her, and he seemed awed with what he saw.

"Lucky," he muttered, voice rough and strained.

Caitlin smiled, squeezing his hand. "Yes, you're lucky to be alive."

To her surprise, he shook his head, looking at her with those earnest glazed blue eyes again. "I'm lucky that the first person I see when I woke up was my beautiful wife."

Caitlin's smile fell.

 _What the actual fuck—_ , Frost muttered from the depth of her subconscious, fully awake now.

"Your soothing presence eased up my pain, my dear wife," Len mumbled again, eyes unfocused and dreamy though his voice was so thick with love and adoration that his words almost sounded genuine.

Caitlin tried so hard to not burst to a laugh.

"Len?" She called out gently instead, noting the glazed drugged look in his eyes. "Are you fully awake?"

He blinked groggily, seemingly to be struggling for his words, before he rested his head on the pillow, eyes still hooded and glazed when he gave her a little quirk of smile, whispering in a hushed grateful voice;

"How could I not be awake? When my queen is here by my side?"

 _Man, what kind of drug Barry roofied into his system….I want some_ , Frost huffed, breaking to a hysterics laughter—and that would've been disturbing, to hear her own laughter inside her head, but Caitlin couldn't help but quirked a smile too.

 _Frost_ , she scolded half-heartedly. _Be nice._

 _Nuh-uh_ , Frost argued. _We should record this. This is enough blackmail material to get Cold off his high horse._

Caitlin wanted to say no.

She really wanted to.

But the idea was so temptingly irresistible.

Her relationship with Cold started off with a rocky start, since she had aided in his arrest multiple times while he had hurt and betrayed her more than once. But then, after she helped Lisa during the whole Lewis fiasco, the man chose to change. His gratitude to her team drove him to attempt heroism, and although he still needed a bit polishing here and there, he was a decent hero, a good friend and a wonderful brother-figure.

Though, one thing didn't change from the transition of nemesis to comrades—the older man never stopped teasing her, especially regarding her lack of social life.

Even back then—a year and half ago—while they were still fighting against each other on opposite sides of law, he often teased her with jibes about her nightlife, particularly with her constant bad luck with men and romance.

Not to mention that embarrassing video when that one time he had gotten her drunk and egged her to humiliate herself by singing very horribly in their favourite karaoke bar.

Nobody stopped her from drunk-singing that night—not Iris, not Joe, not Dr. Wells, not Cisco, not Lisa—as she butchered random songs, from famous pop songs to childish Disney ones for over half an hour. It was after she tripped on her heels and almost fell off the stage that Iris finally took pity of her and dragged her away from the microphone.

And he still has that 45-minutes long blackmail video.

 _Revenge is best served cold_ , Frost egged on, still salty at the reminder of that karaoke video.

Thus, Caitlin took out her phone, discreetly recording while talking to the older man, entertaining his drug-induced rambles with a relieved smile on her face. It was comforting to know that she didn't have to worry much. The long night Barry spent to save him was worth it, as Len seemed fine, despite this hilarious delusion he had of having her as his wife.

"Do you remember how do you propose me?" she asked—a suggestion from Frost—while doing her best to restrain the laughter that tempted to spill from her mouth.

Frost, being the non-dormant personality for the time being, has already burst to uncontrollable cackle inside their shared sub-conscious.

"I built ice throne for you, the prettiest one for my ice queen," he smiled drunkenly at her, clutching her hand tight in his calloused large hand. "And then I got onto one knee and propose to you."

Caitlin was so temptingly close to break to a laughter.

 _Oh my god…._

 _This is gold, Caity_ , Frost agreed.

Though, before they could prompt even more embarrassing ramble from the older man, they heard a knock on the door. Three gentle raps against the door to attract their attention, and Caitlin couldn't hide her sheepish grin when she turned around and saw Barry was watching her—the man was leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest, his smile was like that of an amused parent who just caught their naughty child, though there was no judgement in his eyes.

Len, however, didn't seem to be happy to see Barry.

"Who are you?" he rasped, tightening his grip on Caitlin's hand and tried to lift his body up, only to groan in pain at the sudden movement. "Why are you here in our house?"

Caitlin had to wonder of the strength of the drugs in Len's system for him to have this kind of delusion.

"Do not strain yourself, Mr. Snart," Barry said, his voice was smooth and soothing, as he made his way to the bed, carrying what it seemed like a small cooler with him. He smiled kindly when Len tensed underneath his touch. "I'm Dr. Allen…," he introduced himself with a charming smile, eyes darted to a quick teasing glance towards Caitlin, "…and your wife here called me to check up on your injuries. I'm your doctor, don't you remember?"

Caitlin didn't know what to feel when Barry played along with her little prank on her drugged friend.

"My doctor?"

"Yes. I've been working for you and Mrs. Snart for years."

Len seemed to relax at that response, retreating to lay properly on the bed, only to hiss in pain when he jostled his bandages. Barry was quick to respond—professional and careful when he examined the bandages, making sure that Len didn't agitate his injuries.

Caitlin's brows raised to her hairline when he finally revealed the content of the cooler and she had to wonder how long he had been awake that he was able to go out and retrieve some blood for Len. She knew it was not a problem for him since the Allen's family has a huge control over few hospitals, hence, to sneak out a few bags was a walk in the park for the surgeon. But, it still amazed her to know that he was willing to break the law to help Len. Caitlin felt relief and gratefulness washed over her chest when Barry replaced the saline solution with the blood—it was an amazing luck of them that the man was thorough in helping her friend.

It was fascinating to watch from the side, when Barry resumed his task and checked on Len's vitals—the man was making quick note of the heartbeat rate and blood pressure, measuring the body temperature, asking Len about his pain and if he was feeling any discomfort—that Caitlin almost forgot that they were at his house rather than an actual hospital.

When Len admitted that he did feel an excruciating pain on the injury at his chest, Barry simply nodded and gave the older man an assuring smile.

"I'll increase the morphine dosage," he murmured, seemingly more to himself than to Len or Caitlin, his eyes were fixed on his notes before he finally looked up from the papers and gave Len an assuring smile. "You should be able to fall asleep painlessly then."

Len nodded wordlessly, seeming to obediently listen to Barry's words, although Caitlin had a hunch it was because of his exhaustion, since his eyes started to droop, his body grew lax on the bed. He started to ramble again, still having a delusion of having Caitlin as his wife, blue eyes were unfocused although his hand clutched tight on Caitlin's own while Barry carefully measured the morphine into a disposable syringe. The surgeon flicked his finger over the tip of the needle, before he smiled, giving Caitlin a discreet wink when he injected the drug straight into Len's system—it amazed Caitlin to see the little lines of pained frown on Len's face slowly faded as the man fall back to unconsciousness.

"That should do it," Barry murmured, disposing of the needle and his gloves into the trashcan beside the nightstand, and Caitlin couldn't help but note that it was the same yellow bin they used in hospitals for hazardous trash. "He should be able to rest painlessly for a couple of hours."

 _What a workaholic…._ , Frost muttered, sounding amused. _He brings the hospital into his house._

 _Frost_ , Caitlin growled. _He helped us. Be nice._

 _Heyyyy, I'm just stating the truth, Caity. No need to get defensive._

Caitlin decided to ignore Frost and watched silently as Barry arranged the drugs into its case, noting that the man was organizing everything according to alphabetical order and the volume of the bottles into the huge case, although it was the sheer number of drugs he had at his disposal that had Caitlin intrigued.

Even if he brought his work home with him, the amount and variety of drugs were way too much to be normal.

She couldn't help but point that out.

"Ah," he bit his lower lip, seemingly hesitant to speak at first before his shoulders slouched in resignation. "It's for my… _brother_."

"Savvi?" She uttered, hoping she got the name right.

"Not him," Barry shook his head, completely focusing on his organizing task rather than looking at Caitlin's eyes. "My _other_ brother….He had… _problems_ …that couldn't be eased with normal painkiller. I have been trying to formulate a new painkiller that could ease his pain."

Caitlin stared, hoping that he would elaborate.

He didn't.

Instead, he simply packed his stuffs and completely dropped the subject, shifting the conversation towards food. He cheerfully invited Caitlin for a brunch with him instead, pretending that the earlier conversation didn't happen as he talked about the brunch's menu since apparently, Savvi was downstairs, cooking for them. The kid seemed to be an amazing cook, if the scrumptious smell that she inhaled as they walked down the stairs were any indicator. Caitlin's stomach growled—although thankfully Barry didn't seem to notice—and only then did she realised how ravenous she had been.

She was glad that they allowed her to set up the table. She has started to feel very bad for imposing on the brothers like this even though neither of them seemed to mind.

 _Suspicious_ , Frost suddenly said, causing Caitlin to pause in her task of setting the table up.

 _What is suspicious?_ She asked back, resuming her task, although a bit slower now as she kept her gaze on the brothers, not wanting Savvi to notice if her eyes shifted colours.

Frost was silent for a moment, and Caitlin could feel her counterpart's suspicion grew but her meaner side finally decided to not reply, opting for a simple 'nothing'. She tried to push, but Frost wasn't yielding, thus, she mentally sighed and pondered on the idea, honestly curious about the sickness that seemed to be ailing Barry's brother. She connected it with the conversation he had in the car yesterday, feeling more intrigued and curious as soon as her mind started theorising on the subject.

 _Any idea what problems his brother could be suffering?_ She tried to prompt Frost to talk again, hoping that her counterpart would spill the thoughts that she was hiding from Caitlin.

 _Andddd why should we care?_

 _Frost, we want him to be our comrade. We help each other in the team._

Her mental counterpart was silent for a moment, but Caitlin could feel that Frost was thinking hard on the subject. She smiled, appreciating her other-self's attempt to entertain her thoughts, even though she knew that Frost usually didn't try to indulge in other people's business.

 _My best guess?_ Frost huffed, eyes flashed blue for a while as she stared at Barry's back. _His brother is a metahuman with extremely high metabolism._

 _So that's why normal painkillers wouldn't work on him._

Caitlin somehow felt lucky that despite her killer immune system, her metabolism still worked well enough to accept drugs and painkillers, albeit she needed them in triple dosage than normal human.

God knew how she could even survive handling Cisco and Len in one room without painkillers on standby.

 _Or, the guy is a druggie. We never know._

 _That sounds odd…_ , Caitlin argued back, pursing her lower lips thoughtfully. _Why would he cure a drug addict by using more drugs?_

 _Just a hypothesis, Cait_ , Frost huffed, sounding fondly annoyed. _For fuck's sake, we don't even know anything about this guy other than what we read in his published_ _works._

Caitlin had to agree with that.

But having heard about the way he treated Iris, seen the way he offered his shoulder for Joe to cry on during the funeral, and now witnessing his interactions with his brother—it suddenly gave him more dimensions, putting him under different light for Caitlin to observe, making him less like the stoic prodigal genius and more of an average human.

Thus, she dropped the conversation there, proceeding to help Savvi with the food, all the while reminding herself to not glomp the scarred man into a huge comforting hug. Barry said that Savvi was three years younger than him, and since Caitlin and Barry was at the same age, she couldn't stop her natural Mama Bear tendency from trying to reach out for the kid. It was heartbreakingly adorable when the younger man shyly tugged on her sleeves when he needed her to do something, only speaking one or two words to get his message across before distancing himself from her. Caitlin was honestly itching to hug him but had to restrain herself from doing so, worried that it would backfire negatively. Barry had whispered to her that the kid wasn't used to other people beside their _brothers_ , and he didn't even have to mention it for Caitlin to know why.

She knew that the scar that marred half of his face would surely be a target of bullies.

"He usually never shut up," Barry murmured under his breath to her, a little quirk of smile was on his face. "Annoying little brat he is."

And yet, Caitlin could count the number of words she heard Savvi spoke around her.

 _You do realise that you can't adopt him, right?_ Frost commented dryly, sounding amused at Caitlin's continuous attempt to strike a conversation with the scarred young man. _He is twenty-five. He is a full-grown adult—_

 _He is adorably helpless. I need to protect this cinnamon roll._

 _Ugh…Why do I even bother?_ Frost let out a long, suffering sigh. _You're beyond saving, Cait._

Caitlin ignored that jibe. It was nice to know Barry as an average human—who needed a lover and family around him—rather than as the prodigy she read in the books.

She felt guilty towards Iris, for involving him into their secret, but somehow, she also understood Dr. Wells' desire to have Barry in the team. Perhaps it wasn't due to the fact that Dr. Wells required another great mind that rivalled his own, but maybe the old scientist had seen past Barry's front and saw himself in the young surgeon—after all, they both were prodigal geniuses that were depraved from family and friends since young age.

Thus, when Barry stated that he would be happy to help Team Frost whenever he had free time, and even extended his help by offering his house as an emergency stop if any one of them got hurt while patrolling—Caitlin regretfully pushed the guilt she felt for betraying Iris's wish and straight up invited him to Starlabs.

Yesterday's event still terrified her. The last speedster they defeated was a psycho, and the one who was with Ripper yesterday didn't seem any less psycho—so, Caitlin really have a negative stereotype on speedsters now. The Scarlet Ripper was already dangerous on his own, but to know that the deranged menace has a psychopathic speedster as an ally made the possibility of one of her comrades getting seriously injured and dying even higher. Dr. Wells was knowledgeable enough to give medical aid when they got hurt while Caitlin was out of commission, but if something similarly life-threatening like Len's situation happened again?

They wouldn't even be able to do anything.

They really needed his expertise in the team.

She just hoped that Joe wouldn't reacted negatively at this.

* * *

 **A/N: And with this, the chapters have finally catch up to its twin on A03. Next update will be simultaneous with the one in AO3. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**


	5. Thawing the Ice

**A/N: Un-betaed. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

Jitters has the best coffee in the world.

And Caitlin wasn't even being biased. Really. It wasn't because Jitters was her favourite café ever since she was a student in CCU. Or the café she first had a date with Ronnie. It also wasn't because Jitters was the first café after Zoom's defeat that offered freezing cold spice latte with a scoop of ice cream and whipped cream on top that they named as "The Frost", which came with complimentary snowy meringue brownies in their menu. She did think that the new coffee was an overkill and exaggeration over her success defeating Zoom, but it didn't take long for her to bask in the glory. The new drink was damn delicious, while the brownie was heaven send, so you would hear no complaint from either her or Frost.

But, that was not the reason she favoured Jitters.

It was the warm, friendly atmosphere that made her love Jitters. The sunny cheery mood, and the way everyone always left the double glass door with a smile and a happier bounce in their steps. It was a relaxing environment that soothed her heart, especially after a long night of patrolling. She would stop here after changing into her civilian clothing—the smiles on the customers reminded her of why she put her life in danger to protect the city.

And now, that Iris was gone, she has another reason to drop by the café too.

This was the place where she first met Iris after all.

Who would've known that the worst day of her life—of which her dorm went to a complete black-out, her ex-boyfriend dumping her through a freaking text, she had two assignments due the next morning and she lost half of her report due to virus-infected USB drive—had caused her to spend her night at Jitters and met her sister for life in the night-shift part time barista.

Iris invoked the first smile on her face that day when she delivered her orders with little cheering note and cute doodles on the napkin.

They ended up as best friends after that.

And sitting here, in the very same booth with the same orders she had that faithful night, had drowned Caitlin in a bittersweet mood, missing her best friend but still feeling the warmth of the other woman through the atmosphere in Jitters. She rarely let herself to fall into this kind of mood, but last night disaster had her to come here, attempting to seek the familiar comfort she usually get from her best friend.

Joe was giving Caitlin the cold shoulder treatment—no pun intended.

She knew that the detective wouldn't react nicely at Barry's recent involvement with Team Frost. Oh, hell, far from it. She knew that the detective would go ballistic. Joe adored Barry so much. Unlike Iris' past boyfriends whom all had difficult time with the detective, Barry seemed like a special case. He won over Joe's heart the instant he stepped into the West's household—something that Wally never stopped talking about, on how floored his old man was as Barry charmed his way into Joe's heart.

It was no secret that even if Barry and Iris didn't make it to the aisle, Joe would still have a room in his heart for the surgeon.

Thus, seeing Barry in the cortex yesterday—chatting happily in the centre of welcoming Team Frost—did not translate well in the detective's mind.

Caitlin let out a heavy sigh.

"Long night?"

And speak of the devil, thus he shall appear.

Caitlin quirked a smile at the surgeon, noting his head-to-toe black clothes, just like Caitlin's own monotonous dress as Barry pulled the chair opposite to hers, placing his own coffee on the table. He seemed to be too chirpy for this early in the morning, although he didn't look like he was in rush to go anywhere else.

"You know the deal. My night life is hectic," she simply smiled and shrugged, not wanting to mention Iris to him. "You? You're early for your coffee."

"Nahh," he flashed his teeth in a beaming grin to her. "I have a class at 8.30."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Class?"

She knew that he had a regular teaching schedule at CCU, but it was on Tuesday and Wednesday. Today was Thursday.

"Replacement class for the other day, when I called in sick," he winked—referring to the day she crashed into his house begging him to save Len's life—he was grinning that laidback smile again. "I'm that cruel professor who never let my students get a cancelled class."

"Oh, the horrible one," Caitlin agreed, scrunching her nose, her voice was teasing. "You're the no-fun type of professor who always says 'class postponed' rather than 'class cancelled'."

"It's for their own good," he shrugged, lips quirking to a smirk.

"But your students hated you for it."

His face twisted to a mock scandalized look. "I beg to differ. They _adore_ me."

She burst to a laughter at that. He was right, though. His students adored him, despite how strict he was with his markings and class attendance—something that was so infamous that it even reached old alumni like Caitlin herself. Her juniors who took his class always complained about that hot professor who never let anyone pass his class unless they have acceptable attendance and managed to cook up assignments that impressed him.

He drove his students crazy and, yet they still love him.

Probably the food. He must have put something in all those random snacks he brought to class to feed his students. Caitlin had heard those stories that her juniors dished out in the alumni chat and it somehow made her jealous. None of her professor back when she was studying would bring food for their students.

Kids nowadays were so lucky.

"Allen!"

Caitlin whipped her head towards the counter when the barista yelled out his name, and her eyes widened upon seeing the stacks of pastry boxes that were waiting on the counter. Eleven boxes of Jitters' infamously delicious cupcakes, each box containing 12 cupcakes. That was a total of 132 cupcakes.

Damn. Lucky kids.

"And that's my cue to leave," Barry smiled and strode to the counter to pay for his purchases, only to return to Caitlin's booth to grab his coffee. "See you later tonight, Cait," he grinned, before lowering his voice just a little when he bent to wink at her. "And I hope you and Frost enjoyed the treat. Both of you deserve it."

She frowned as he left, not understanding what he meant with his last words.

"Snow!"

She again whipped her head around to look at the counter, only to break to a little smile when he saw the two cupcakes served on the platter—the frosting was dark brown and light creamy colour, a blatant reminder of Caitlin and Frost's different hair colour. She took the cupcakes, smiling knowingly when the barista told her that the cupcakes were already been paid and gently woke Frost up as she made her way back to her table.

 _What?_ Her mental counterpart growled, cranky and annoyed. _I thought we agree that you handle boring morning life and I handle exciting night life, Caity._

Caitlin rolled her eyes, shaking her head. _You don't want the cupcakes then? Cool. More for me._

That immediately snapped Frost out of her cranky sleepy mode. _Wait, what cupcakes?_

Caitlin quirked a little smile when she felt Frost's consciousness finally noticed the cupcake and the sudden excitement and hunger that filled her body definitely did not stem from Caitlin's side of their shared subconscious.

 _Is that…lemon meringue cupcake?!_

Caitlin held back a laugh. There's only one way to make Frost lost her cool—just give her icy counterpart anything lemon meringue and she would cave.

She wondered if Barry knew that Frost would love this one.

 _Yep. Lemon meringue for you. Chocolate indulgence for me. Barry's treat._

Frost was silent for a moment that it almost worried Caitlin.

 _Frost?_

 _This guy is bad news, Cait._

Caitlin's eyes widened at that comment, noting the hint of weird fear in the tone of her mental counterpart.

 _What?_ Caitlin spat back, wondering why Frost was suddenly scared of Barry—

 _He is breaking into our ice. He is bad news, Cait. I don't want him melting us._

Okay. False alarm. That was just morning Frost ranting about the stupidest thing on Earth.

Caitlin decided to tune down Frost's ranting, nibbling her own cupcake and drinking her coffee. She would pack Frost's share of the treat in a takeaway box later, along with their favourite The Frost coffee, and returned to Starlabs so that Frost could take control and devour her cupcake on her own.

As for now, Caitlin just wanted to bask in the comfort and warmth that Jitters offered.

* * *

He never felt fear before.

Why would he? He was the rich only son for one of the most powerful politician of the city. He got everything served on silver platters on him ever since he was born. Those who crossed him, no matter how rightful they were in the matter, were immediately 'dealt with' by his parents' power and money. He always got everything that he wanted. He was untouchable.

Thus, when he tried to corner the pretty new professor, he thought that she would be an easy prey.

But the damned professor apparently has already heard of his reputation and immediately ran to her colleague the moment she saw him approaching.

And she just has to run to that one professor he hated the most.

 _Professor Allen._

He could and willingly wrote a whole thesis on how much he hated Prof Allen. The guy wasn't even present for more than two days per week in the campus—since he was just teaching two subjects and supervise a few promising genius students—but he managed to monopolize every single girl in CCU. And majority of those girls weren't even in his class!

He was sick of Professor Allen. Sick of the way everyone worshipped the doctor. Sick of the way the young professor wasn't even fazed with his challenges. Sick to the way his potential prey now knew it was safe to run and hide behind Professor Allen whenever he tried to approach them.

That professor was a thorn in his side.

Knowing that even his own father wouldn't dare to cross the line and anger the professor—needing the promised cure of the cancer that was eating that old man inside out—he has no choice but to take things into his own hands.

He waited the whole evening, having memorized the professor's habit by heart now. Even though the man was present in the campus for only two days per week, on those days, he would stay at his office until late at night, just in case any of his students require a consultation with their assignments or thesis. Prof Allen would leave his office at exactly eleven at night, taking a few minutes to walk down the hall and spend another ten minutes to bring cups of coffee to the night guards and chat with them before he reached his car at around 11.15 pm to 11.20 pm.

That was when he struck.

It was unbearably satisfying to see the man he hated so much fell onto the ground with blood trickling down the side of his head.

Though, his satisfaction was short-lived.

There was a sudden breeze, and he literally saw crackles of ill-looking red-yellow lightning along with odd statics that raised the hair on his arms before he felt an ominous presence standing right behind him, stunning him in place the exact moment Professor Allen got back on his feet. The professor turned around, lips twisted to a malicious smirk as he wiped the blood that trickled down his cheek.

And the usually good-natured mellow professor looked murderously pissed off.

"Really, Flash?" The voice that came out of the beloved professor wasn't his usual warm tone of a teacher, but had dropped an octave lower, cold as the rigid ice. "You couldn't have interfered earlier?"

He could feel a movement behind him, as if the unknown man was shrugging. There was something weird in the air. It felt like the air was moving, suffocating him and made his breathing turned to quick ragged pants. Violent chills rolled down his spine when the man behind him spoke with voice so eerily similar to the professor's though that voice did have that slight tinge of laughter, as if he was enjoying what he just witnessed.

"I thought you noticed him there," another nonchalant shrug. "And you would have the _icy_ resident hero passing by this area in like…," he drawled, as if looking at the time, before resuming, "…five minutes from now. Either way, he ain't getting out of this stupidity unscathed."

Prof Allen rolled his eyes and wiped the blood with his sleeves, but the wound must have been big because it did nothing to stop the red liquid that was dripping down the right side of his head.

"Mr. Woodward," the professor hissed, shoulders squared as he stood in front of him, suddenly looking far taller and menacing than he actually was. "This is not the way you're supposed to express your dissatisfaction towards a member of the faculty…."

He didn't dare to speak. Not with the way the professor was glaring at him and the hand that was curled round his neck seemed to vibrate in an unspoken threat. The air seemed thicker, and he could feel weird thrum of energy radiating from the man that was holding him—it felt like those invisible ripples of heat one would saw radiating from a white-hot fire. This was wrong. This wasn't like anything he expected. Something seemed so off with the professor too. The man's voice was far too cold, almost uncaring and malicious, bright green eyes suddenly seemed darker—and dared he said it, deranged even—filled with anger that rendered him trembling in fear.

"You know…," the man behind him drawled, lazy and amused. "It _is_ nearing your deadline after all…"

 _Deadline? What deadline?_

Though, he has no time to ask because beloved Professor Allen broke to a manic cackle right there—the horrific sound sent chills down his body, engulfing him in utter fear. The professor neared their distance to press those warm hands against his wet cheeks—and only then did he realised that he has been crying, the fear invoked a natural body reaction that he has no control over. The man hummed, lips curled to a creepy smirk as he said in a hushed voice.

"Hey, hey, Woodward, hush my dear student," he murmured, voice cold though his tone was soothing and placating. "Don't cry, don't cry…It's going to be alright, okay?" he smiled, eyes crinkled and teeth flashed white against the darkness of the dimly-lit parking area. He retreated then, wiping his thumb underneath the teary eyes like how a father would do to sooth his child as he added softly; "It's not going to hurt, trust me."

Woodward was very terrified.

"Flash?" the professor grinned, addressing the man that was standing behind Woodward. "Can you be a darling and take dear Mr. Woodward back at my lair? I'm going to greet our hero here."

"Sure," there was a vibrating laugh. "Have fun poking on the ice."

He only managed to see the encouraging tilt of the professor's head before his surrounding blurred like a nauseating whirlpool that only stopped when he was suddenly thrown across a dark room. He looked up, trembling in fear upon meeting the amused green eyes of his professor—although he knew that this man was not CCU's beloved Professor Allen, the crackles of lightning in those eyes tipped the fact off. He scrambled away, only to finally had a good look of the room he was in, and gaped in horror upon seeing the display stand behind his professor's doppelganger.

Pitch black mask with gold lining and single golden cross chain earring were laid innocently in the glass display.

It was the infamous trademark of the Scarlet Ripper.

He knew he was dead then.

* * *

"You're supposedly to be smarter than this, you know?"

Frost growled when Barry merely chuckled at her irritated comment.

"Well, I _am_ trying to drive to the ER before you startle me…," the man chuckled sheepishly, though he did wince and avoid her hand when she reached up to his wound.

"You're going to drive…," she deadpanned, barely hiding her disbelieving tone. "WITH A WOUND THIS BIG?!"

"Um, yes?"

Frost was so tempted to murder Barry Allen.

Or ice his ass. Yeah, that sound better. She was so tempted to ice him.

For a man so brilliant, he was kinda an idiot.

What's the function of 911 and that expensive phone if he had to drive on his own to the ER with a gigantic bleeding wound on his head? He could've called for an ambulance and waited for help rather than risking slipping into unconsciousness mid-driving. Frost's eyes darted to the spiked bat that was laying on the ground, feeling the ice in her veins turned even colder. Someone had attacked him, and god bless that this was one of those nights where Frost was fully dormant, while Caitlin chose to completely fell asleep in their shared subconscious.

Her softer side would've freaked out at this incident.

If Caitlin was awake, she would have been screaming in her head and annoyed Frost even more.

"You could have called for an ambulance," she deadpanned, voice completely unimpressed.

"Ah," he seemed disorientated, sheepish and embarrassed, like he wasn't aware of that option until she pointed it out. "I…didn't think of that…"

"You're an adorable idiot," she huffed, taking off her gloves and reached up to his wound again, attempting to check for the extent of the injury.

Naturally, like any other normal person, he winced away from her touch. In normal situation, that would've annoyed Frost, but she understood Barry's situation right now. Caitlin was the nerdy good doctor between the two of them, but that didn't mean that Frost wasn't aware that Barry would be probably operating under the automatic knee-jerk reaction that made his mind to register every external touch would hurt his wound even more. She then nudged the man back against the hood of his car, situating herself between his legs and leant up, eyes squinted while letting her coldness radiated from the tip of her fingers, trying to lure Barry into the numbing comfort of the ice.

It worked, and Barry wasn't resisting when she examined his injury. His injury would probably cause a mild concussion, the wound was big and required stitches, something that she assumed would have him grimacing in pain by now, especially with her hand gently brushing through his blood-matted hair. But instead, much to her surprise, he took his injury like a seasoned warrior, only the little barely noticeable wince and tension in his shoulders told her that he was in actual pain.

"You handle pain surprisingly well," she commented, head jerked in a reflex nod to the update that Dr. Wells had sent to her even though there was no way the old man could see her.

The old scientist was handling the cortex tonight, and has immediately alerted Joe and the ambulance when she informed him that it was Barry whom she found bleeding in CCU's parking lot. Frost knew that Joe wouldn't be happy about this. Barry had charmed his way into the cop's heart during the first dinner he had with the Wests, and now, even with Iris gone, Joe still viewed Barry as the son-in-law he hoped to have. That's why Frost was still at the receiving end of Joe's cold shoulder treatment—the detective wasn't impressed at all when he saw Barry in the cortex when Caitlin first brought the surgeon to Starlabs yesterday.

Joe didn't want to have Barry in danger.

And this attack would give the detective the reason he needed to pull Barry off Team Frost.

Frost sighed, scanning the readings on her scouter and made a quick estimate of the arrival time of the ambulance. According to the update, help would arrive soon, 5 minutes tops, so she just had to keep Barry conscious until then. He didn't seem like he was in a good state though. The man took a considerable amount of time to respond to her comment that it was almost worrying when he finally blurted out;

"Wouldn't it be embarrassing me for me to whine in front of Central City's hero?"

Frost tried so hard to not roll her eyes.

Really. She did try her best to not roll her eyes.

She failed.

She rolled her eyes so hard.

"No need with that masculine tough guy bravado, doc," she grumbled, though the corners of her blue-painted lips did quirk to a little smirk when he gave her that sheepish smile again. "We both know that between the two of us, you're the fragile one."

Even through the dim lighting of the parking lot, she could see his cheeks darkened upon her comment. She wasn't undermining him though. Her metahuman gene made her more durable than normal human like him. It was a fact. He was the more fragile one between the two of them.

"You won't laugh at me if I whine?" he shot back, voice getting softer and a bit slurred, like he was so close to slip into unconsciousness. "Even though you have gone through worse injuries than me?"

 _That_ had Frost's eyes widened for a moment. Her spine suddenly felt cold, reminding her of her worst injury. She kept staring forward to the wall then, not making any eye contact with him even when she felt his weight leant against her side.

"I have killer healing rate, doc," she muttered through gritted teeth.

"But Zoom was ruthless," he murmured, his body weight got even heavier against her shoulder. "I saw the news, Frost…"

She stiffened at that reminder of Zoom.

Zoom, her enemy last year, the speedster who wanted to get rid of her so that he could invade her Earth under his flags. The ruthless man whom she and Caitlin had kissed while he was pretending to be their friend.

And she had trusted him when he said that he was going to change his ways.

"It must have hurt so much…"

Yeah. It had hurt both her and Caitlin in more than one ways.

Why must she have to fall in love with her own villain?

"I'm okay now," she diverted the topic, and she had to bit back the growl upon noticing her own bitter tone—she honestly sounded like she was trying to convince herself rather than him. "It's _you_ that we have to worry about."

Barry snorted a humourless laugh.

"Pretty sure that I'm gonna have a concussion."

"Obviously," she murmured dryly, shifting a bit when she felt him leaning against her. "And you're about to pass out."

"Sleepy," he murmured back, teeth flashed in a light teasing grin at her though his eyes did struggle to remain open.

"Just a little bit longer, doc," she offered, perking up at the faint sound of siren that nearing their location. "If I have superspeed, I would've bring you to hospital myself."

"And I would have vomited on you if you sped me to a hospital in this state," he chuckled at her words, eyes crinkled in a way that made her think he had an inside joke about the idea of being sped to hospital by someone with superspeed. Though, before she could even ask, she felt his cheek resting heavily atop her hair. "You're cold," he stated.

"My name is Frost, doc. That didn't tip you off?"

"It feels good," he slurred, nuzzling his cheek to her hair again. "Numb the pain. So good."

He leant even closer to her after that, as if wanting to feel the cold. It somehow had a reverse effect on Frost, her cheeks warmed up despite the protest of her mind. It was a natural reaction that she has no control over. Despite her external resistance against touchy-feely stuffs, she enjoyed physical contact with other, much warmer humans. Everyone would be happy to offer Caitlin a hug. However, Frost was in an opposite situation. Her body temperature was so cold when she was dormant that the only person who was willing to have direct prolonged contact while she was Frost was Iris and Len. The rest of the team tended to avoid prolonged contact with her because they would end up needing layers of sweaters afterwards. Thus, having another person leaning towards her, totally not minding her cold temperature really warmed up her heart.

The similarities between Barry and Iris struck an invisible pain to her heart, making tears stung at her eyes.

They were such a perfect couple….

"I hear sirens," Barry suddenly mumbled and true to his words, the sirens of the ambulance sounded louder.

Frost shifted, ready to make an exit. After she stopped Zoom, the police have a complete trust in her, but she rather not has the spotlight on her, because someone out there might have noticed the resemblance between her and Caitlin, hence exposing their secret identity. She was about to leave Barry there when he caught her wrist, his grasp was surprisingly strong as he kept her in place right next to him.

Though, his next words were the one that surprised her.

"Don't go?" he asked sheepishly, leaning even more to her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his blood trickled on her hair. "I…," he cleared his throat, hesitant, "…Your cold…um…feels… _soothing_."

Frost quirked an amused smile, shifting a bit to allow him to rest against her body. "At your service, doc."

"Thank you," he breathed in relief, promptly resting his cheek against her head again, soft whimper slipped past his lips when she offered her ice cold hand, of which he promptly placed on his temple—not touching the wound but close enough so that the cold would be able to sooth it.

She only left when Barry was safely transferred into Joe's arms and escorted to the back of the ambulance.

As she went on her patrol, Frost couldn't help but feel happy that she had this night for herself.

Caitlin didn't need to know that Frost _might_ have thawed a little bit to the surgeon.

P/s: Emphasis on the 'might'.

* * *

"Barry, please."

"Joe," Barry quirked an assuring smile to the detective, reaching a hand to squeeze the older man's arm. "I'm fine. It's just a mild concussion."

"Which is the reason you shouldn't be on your own," the detective argued. "At least for tonight, sleep at my house. Wally and I can look after you if you have nausea or anything…"

Barry patted Joe's arm, already climbing out of the car. "I'm fine. And I'm not going to be alone."

He was hundred percent sure that the Flash was waiting for him, probably with half of his fridge already emptied into the speedster's bottomless stomach.

God, he didn't know how Flash would be able to afford that kind of appetite if he wasn't a supervillain.

"Barry…"

"Joe."

Joe stopped his pleading, seemingly taken aback with the firmness of Barry's voice. Schooling his face to a hesitant sad expression, Barry murmured softly, "I…I can't go back to your house, Joe."

"Why? I still consider you as my son—"

"There's too much of _her_ there, Joe," Barry cut the detective off, averting his gaze, pretending to blink away unshed tears. That invisible pang welled up in his chest again, but he ignored it, resuming on his act. "I just…. _can't._ "

Though, the crack in his voice near the end of his words was genuine.

That seemed to soften Joe's stubbornness.

"Okay," the man finally agreed, reaching a hand across the seat to squeeze Barry's upper arm. "Call me the first thing tomorrow, okay? Or I'm busting in if I didn't hear anything from you by noon."

"Sure," Barry laughed. "Good night, Joe. And thanks, for the ride."

Joe repeated his requests again, threatening to break into Barry's house if he didn't hear anything from him, and remained in his car afterwards, not driving away until he saw Barry had safely entered his apartment building. Barry waved to the man once, amused at how much the cop adored him without even harbouring a suspicion that Barry was the one who murdered his daughter. Barry shook his bandaged head, musing on how easy it was for some people to trust as he pressed on the button to his floor. He reached the topmost floor of the building, and walked straight to his door, only to raise an amused brow at the weird static in the air that made his hair stood on his arms.

Savitar mentioned that the Flash was overcharged with energy.

But, he didn't think that it would be to this extent.

Barry could literally feel the thrumming of energy around him, as if the molecules of the air was vibrating themselves, the atmosphere was slightly warmer that he instantly shed his outerwear, leaving him in his dress shirt and pants as he pushed the door open. He was loosening his necktie when there was that familiar breeze again, and his doppelganger stood before him, those identical twin orbs crackled in lightnings as they eyed the bandages around his head.

"You're really an overcharged battery," Barry commented, his own heart rate somehow sped up at the sudden jolt of energy that grazed over his skin when the Flash reached out to tug his neck tie loose.

"And you're the scariest professor in the multiverse."

Barry scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Woodward is still alive, right?"

"Aw, do you have so little trust in me, Ripper?" the Flash grinned, voice almost like a sulky whine. "I don't play with your prey, unless if you invite me to."

"Unfortunately, I'm not offering any invitation while you're in your current state," Barry smiled, taking note on the constant crackles of lightning in the speedster's eyes, the violent thrum of energy that vibrated from the man and the slight deranged gleam in the way the Flash was grinning. "They have already considered Iris' case as copycat case. Any more difference in MO and they would coin another name for a non-existent serial killer to steal my spotlight."

The Flash didn't say anything, only tipping his head slightly to the side, his lips curled to a smirk, green eyes crackling with lightnings stared intently into Barry's own.

Barry sighed and quirked a resigned smile. "Just say it."

The Flash beamed. "I told you so."

Barry rolled his eyes and smiled wider. "Yes, yes you did. I should've listened to you."

He has no plan to tell the speedster that he still missed Iris though.

The Flash hated Iris West so much. Telling him that Barry still missed his Iris would probably trigger another murderous episode.

Which reminded Barry of something.

"Does your _wife_ and your doctor know that you're here?" he asked, lips quirked to a knowing smirk when the Flash's expression fell for a split second before it was replaced with a mischievous expression.

"Nope," said the speedster, shaking his head as he practically bounced in energy, lightning crackling violently. "And you ain't telling Savitar or Killer Frost, even if they call."

"So you're telling me that you ran away from their constant watch," Barry deadpanned, grinning when the speedster stiffened—it seemed like his assumption was correct. "Barry, you're supposed to be older and more mature one than me," he clicked his tongue, sounding more like a chiding parent now. "This is childish and reckless of you."

"I thought we could celebrate," the speedster grinned at him, flashing away for a moment, only to return with a bottle of tequila. "I killed Clark last week and you killed your Iris a few days before that. I thought we could have a toast at the good riddance in our life."

"Barry, you're a speedster," Barry couldn't help but point that fact out, although he was sorely tempted to oblige to his doppelganger's offer. "You can't get drunk."

"Aw, Ripper. We could pretend that I can."

"I would love to but…," he trailed, wincing at the slight pain on his head.

"Concussion," the Flash sighed, looking genuinely dejected. "I forget that you're just a normal human sometimes," he murmured, popping the bottle open, mixed a small vial of bluish liquid in it and downed the whole bottle in superspeed. "It's weird to think of you as something so fragile…"

Alcohol should not have any effect on a speedster.

But, having studied the Flash for a couple of months, Barry knew that something about the man's system had went wrong and completely messed up after he was hit with the second lightning. And the bluish liquid he mixed into his drink might have made it even worse as Barry cocked an amused brow, finally understood what Savitar meant with the Flash being like an overcharged battery. The lightnings in the speedster's eyes seemed to grow even more violent once he put the bottle away, and Barry couldn't help but shivered at the sight of foreboding dark clouds in the horizon outside his window, noting the violent flashes of light within the cloud and have to hope that it was just a pure coincident that there was a lightning storm outside while the Flash seemed to be a hair breadth away of losing control here inside his living room.

One wouldn't know how grateful he was that they have transferred Cold back to Starlabs.

This was not a sight that would help him to gain Team Frost's trust.

"Hate," the speedster mumbled, looking dangerously delirious that Barry promptly reached to his back pocket, sending a distress call across the multiverse. "Don't like being constrained," he continued, trembling and vibrating in violent thrum of energy. "Savitar, Ronnie and Frosty follow me _everywhere_."

"Flash, you're ill," Barry tried to placate, ignoring the throbbing of his own head now that the painkiller has worn off. He tentatively touched the speedster, breath hitching at the odd jolt of energy that seemed to jack up his heart rate the moment their skin touched, but he squared his shoulders and pushed on. " _Barry_ ," he called, and the Flash's head snapped up upon hearing the name, eyes staring at him in a glazed look. Barry smiled encouragingly, pushing the speedster down onto his couch, gentle and careful, "come sit down for a while, okay?" he prompted, exhaling in relief when the speedster obliged. "As your second doctor, I feel obliged to tell my colleague and your dear spouse of your whereabouts," Barry smiled, hoping that the joke of referring to Savitar as his wife would snap some sense into the Flash.

Thankfully it did. The lightning calmed down the moment the Flash snorted a humourless laugh.

"Savitar is not my wife," he grumbled, sounding irritated despite the little smile on his face. "He doesn't even make the cut."

"Ha. Ha. Hilarious," came the unimpressed voice of the scarred speedster in question as Barry felt a quick tap on his shoulder. "Good call, Ripper."

Barry nodded, finally exhaling the nervous breath he was holding, body completely relaxed against the couch.

Even if the Flash snapped into a violent murderous trance, Savitar would have everything under control.

"Traitor," the Flash pouted, shooting a betrayed look towards Barry.

"I know my priorities, Flash," Barry smiled, resting his head against the soft surface of his couch, suddenly wishing for Frost's cold hands against his wound as the effect of the painkiller completely worn off, leaving him with stinging pain in his throbbing head. "No one on this Earth could stop you if you gone into your trance and ran amok in Central City."

"They can't even stop _you_ , a mere human," the Flash shot back. "What hope do they have against _me_ , a speedster?"

"Point," Barry agreed.

"I'm still hoping for an invitation to play with Woodward, though."

"My Earth, my prey, my privilege, Flash."

"Aw, Ripper, come on."

"Nope. Go and find your own victim somewhere else."

Savitar rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm done with both of you."

* * *

 **A/N: Believe it or not, Flash and Savitar are going to have more elaborated role in this story later on.**

 **And I edited this note after Captain Fanfic's comment. In the last scene, there are 3 versions of Barry Allen, which are Earth-1 Savitar (from the show), Dark Earth's Flash/Barry (from my series on AO3 that this story is extended from) and Dr. Barry Allen, our hero of this story. Barry Allen in this story do not have superpower. He is just a normal human who is mentally fucked up and have contacts with his far deadlier doppelgangers across the multiverse. Friendly reminder that this story happens in a completely alternate universe, a different Earth, thus making this story is an extreme AU. I hope that cleared the confusion up. =)**

 **Anyhow, anyone had that foreboding feeling that Frost would experience a repeated history? Falling for her own villain?**

 **Comment is greatly appreciated~!**


	6. Charmer

**A/N: Un-betaed. Warning for graphic gore imagery. There are also a slight hint of mental child abuse. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

Warmth was the one that woke Barry up from his sleep.

And he wasn't happy.

Nope. Not at all.

He hated _warmth_.

It was an inconvenience and uncomfortable. The way he woke up with a damp imprint of his own body on his bed, and the stickiness of his sweat-soaked shirt that clung to his skin—it annoyed him to hell.

And he hated it when he closed his eyes, all that he could see and feel was the warm brown eyes and soft arms wrapped around his body in a gentle warm embrace.

Okay, maybe he didn't really hate the warmth.

He just hated how much it reminded him of Iris West.

Barry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the sharp twisting feeling inside his chest down, wanting to bury it and get rid of it for good. This wasn't him. He never felt like this. He felt no guilt when he ripped his previous victims open and laid their beautiful insides out for the world to see. He purposely bonded with his victims before he murdered them, craving that little moments of human connection and attachment. A little attachment to Iris shouldn't made him feel like this. It wasn't like Iris was the only thing he had ever been deeply attached to. There were his pets that he kept while growing up and he had loved them all so much.

He didn't feel like this when he killed the pet bird that his mother bought for him.

He was five, and the pet bird was the only talking companion he had, despite the bird was only able to repeat certain phrases. Molly was sort of his first friend, thus, one day, when the bird simply stopped talking to him, he felt so betrayed and angry that his vision turned red and the next thing he knew, the toilet bowl was filled with blood and feathers.

He only felt satisfaction, even when his father fretted over the missing bird.

It wasn't his fault.

Surely the bird should have told him that it was sick and couldn't talk right?

Then, there should never be _misunderstandings._

He has always been careful and patient with his pets afterwards. No more doing irreversible actions without getting proper explanation.

Now, speaking of explanation, he really should go down to his guest room and see what the hell his doppelgangers had been up to that the whole building ended up having a black-out and plunged him into this annoying heat.

He chucked his drenched shirt away and threw his feet over the edge of his bed, only to sway as the dizziness washed over him, the dull throbbing at the side of his head made him grimace in discomfort and sort of wishing for Frost's cold hand to sooth the pain for him. He waited, hunched at the edge of his bed and waited until the nausea and dizziness went away before he forced his body to shuffle out of his room, grabbing a fresh shirt in the process. He completely relied on the wall, unable to navigate in the darkness with his head still throbbing in pain like this, only to halt when he literally saw statics and lightnings in his hallway. There were muffled groans—pained and tormented noise—that came directly from Savitar's room, and Barry finally knew the reason of the black-out and this impossible warmth that suffocated the atmosphere of his house.

The Flash was having one of his episodes again.

And apparently it was the misery episode rather than manic—something that Barry was regretfully grateful for.

He rather watched his doppelganger trembling and writhing in pain rather than laughing maniacally in a murderous rampage.

Barry leant over the wall, trying to get as close as possible to the door, with full intention on assuming his role as the speedster's second doctor, despite the impossible heat and statics that made him felt even hotter, dizzier and light-headed than he already was. Metahuman physiology was still new to him, and speedsters' physiology was even newer, thus he has no idea if this weird thrum of energy he felt was the infamous speedforce leaking out of the Flash, or it was simply the excess vibration the speedster gave out while he writhed in his pain. Whatever it was though, it was affecting him too—because Barry knew that his own heartbeats should not beat _that_ fast.

The Flash screamed, and violent black lightning literally zapped in the hallway, crackling like ominous omen of doom.

On second thought, never mind.

Maybe he should go to his secret lair and started working on Woodward instead. Savitar could handle the Flash without Barry's help.

The heavy weight in the air lightened as Barry strode farther from the speedsters' room and he couldn't help but took comfort in the calm darkness. It was still warm by the time Barry entered his study, though it wasn't as suffocating like it was in the hallway, but Barry wasn't complaining.

He really was not so fond of excessive heat.

It has been almost two weeks without proper stress-relief for him. In between trying to infiltrate Team Frost, pretending (not really) that he was coping with his grief after Iris' death, and his permanent job at the hospital as well as his part-time job at CCU, Barry didn't exactly have time to enjoy his hobby.

He usually kidnapped his victims a week before he presented them to the public.

And he only has, like, a few more days before it's Monday and the police would be expecting his next art.

Such tough critics he had, he couldn't even catch a break.

Barry exhaled a breath of relief once he entered his lair, the only room in this penthouse that still has functioning electricity—god bless. He wasn't exactly a fan of heat until he met Iris, preferring cool and chilly temperature for his immediate surrounding, thus, to know that this room was not affected by the power leakage of his doppelganger was a blessing. He then spent a little too much time underneath the air-conditioner to cool off, completely enjoying the comfort.

He had this urge to make a quick call across the multiverse to see if Piper would install the same security back-up-plus-generator program of this room to the rest of his house.

Just in case if another black out happened.

He was pretty sure his house was like the second house for the speedsters anyway. They crashed here often enough to earn a permanent room.

Though, despite the comfortable temperature of the room, Woodward was surprisingly wide awake when Barry entered his confinement. The hulking young man seemed so small and vulnerable now, huddled at the corner of the room, shaking and yelping like some helpless little puppy the moment Barry walked in. Barry quirked a gentle smile, balancing the mugs in one hand while the other pushed the door behind him close.

He preferred the privacy while talking to his victims.

But of course, this little confinement was never used for his victims before. He usually charmed them, and literally gained permission from his victims to take them away from the public's eyes, completely unnoticed. After that, it wasn't hard to trick them to go somewhere private, sometimes those who were so trusting would easily fallen asleep while he drove, thus making it easier for him to take them to another Earth. The Flash didn't give a single fuck about who Barry killed under his roof as long as he cleaned his mess up, so there was that. Plus, by doing so, there were less evidences to link the murders to Barry, and his victims never suspect that the house that he brought them to was not his actual home.

Of course, he had a backup house under different alias for the murders he committed on this Earth. One could never be too cautious after all.

Once his victims were comfortably seated, Barry would make them some drinks and invited them for a small chat, while the slow-acting drug slowly shut down their system. He enjoyed talking to his victims, getting to know them, learning their stories—an essential ingredient to the masterpieces he would turn them into—before he had them collapsed to forever sleep. Despite his reputation, Barry wasn't a sadist that enjoy inflicting pain. Quite contrary, he enjoyed it if his victims were comfortable and at peace when he put them to sleep.

However, Woodward wasn't relaxing at all.

Kinda reminded him of how Iris was before he killed her.

Crap. That were two victims in a row. His perfectionist side wasn't exactly happy with this development. Did he really needed a break before he got into his old rhythm back?

"It's not going to hurt, Woodward…," he murmured once he had seated himself in front of the young man, taking the shaking hands into his own and wrapped them around the warm mug. "I'm not a sadist."

"But you're a killer," Woodward squeaked, hands trembling so bad that Barry didn't trust him to be able to hold the mug on his own.

Barry smiled but said nothing, reaching a hand to brush the hair out of the young man's face.

"You're the Scarlet Ripper."

"Mm-hmm," Barry simply hummed, his smile turned softer and gentle. "Everyone have their hobbies, Tony."

Woodward let out a pathetic shriek. "Ho-Hobby?!"

Barry clicked his tongue, chiding. "Is there any problems?"

"You call killing people a hobby?!"

"You tricked and raped random innocent girls, I killed random innocent people," Barry sipped on his own hot cocoa, tongue darting out to lick the foam off his lips, completely nonchalant. "We are not that different."

Woodward immediately went silent, eyes lowered to the ground.

Barry let the silence went on for a few minutes before finally placing his mug on the ground and leant forward, pressing one hand on Woodward's cheek.

"Why do you attack me, Woodward?"

His tone was that of a disappointed teacher that instantly made the younger man flinched and lowered his gaze even more.

"You're not even on my target list," Barry continued on, his thumb gently stroking the younger man's tear-swollen eyes. "I don't target people that know me. My victims were all strangers that I picked up on the streets."

Then, something seemed to blow courage inside Woodward.

"What about your girlfriend?"

Barry stiffened.

Woodward grinned, forcing himself to push more on the topic, sensing a glimmer of hope to get out of this horror alive when Barry tensed up at the reminder of Iris. Woodward had seen the hot reporter on the campus ground before, when she came to greet the professor at his office with coffee and donuts in her beautiful hands. Woodward would've fucked her, but that woman has a mind of her own, too difficult to manipulate and would be a waste of time for him. So, he settled with just watching her from afar, appreciating her gorgeous body and pretty face whenever she dropped by at the campus.

But that didn't mean that he wasn't salty that such gorgeous woman fell into Prof Allen's arms.

Woodward carefully analysed Barry's behaviour, noting the shocked stunned look on the older man's face. It was a moment of weakness that Woodward didn't expect to witness, hence the courage grew stronger inside him. He could do this. He could escape. Thus, he shifted, fishing the pocket knife he kept in his pocket—the guy who brought him here didn't exactly searched him for any weapon after all.

All these time, he thought that the infamous serial killer was a scary terrifying man that would ruthlessly kill and maim you if so you so much talk back to him.

But this? Prof Allen has been nothing but gentle and nice to him. Yeah, the connotation of impending death was scary, but the guy was still the cinnamon roll that everyone loved. Woodward was confident that Prof Allen wouldn't be as lethal as his serial killer alias was supposed to be if he didn't get the chance to drug his victims. Nerds like the professor could never fight in a one-on-one combat. Look at that skinny body! Too weak. Nerds like him were sneaky little bastards that use their smarts to outwit their opponent.

Woodward started to gain confidence that he could get out of this alive.

Stab the professor enough to immobilize him and sneaked out before the other guys notice. He could escape using this plan. And then he would tell the world about the real identity of Scarlet Ripper. He would be famous. He would be a hero.

"Yeah," Woodward huffed, nervousness mixed with adrenaline caused him to square his shoulder and stared straight into Barry's unfocused eyes. "Iris West. Your girlfriend. Is she a stranger, _prof_?"

Barry felt his chest suddenly tightened, his ears rang with Iris' voice—the harsh words and threats she thrown to his face on that faithful night, the smug tone when she told him that she never loved him, that he was so easy to manipulate till she got enough evidences to reveal his crimes—they all thrummed in his ears, causing his hurting head to hurt even more.

 _"_ _Do you think I can love a murderer, Dr. Allen?"_

 _"_ _I never did. I never love you."_

 _"_ _And now you'll rot in jail for your crimes."_

 _"_ _You earn your time in this cell, boy_ …."

Wait, was that him or Iris' voice has turned deeper and older?

 _"_ _Ah, Barry my boy, I told you that only good boys can play outside."_

"Dad," Barry mumbled, his mind wasn't exactly in the present time. "Dad, _please_."

God, he remembered his dad. The old man's praising words to him whenever he did good, and the isolation he had to suffer when he did bad. It used to drive him crazy, when his father locked him in the discipline room for days, without anyone to talk to or anything to entertain himself, completely and utterly alone in the darkness. And whenever the old man came to give him his ration for the day, he would only receive words of disappointment.

 _"_ _You see, Barry, my boy. No one would love you like how I love you."_

 _"_ _You would be alone if I'm not here to love you, Barry."_

 _"_ _Barry, my child, haven't we established that only good boys deserve love?"_

 _"_ _You couldn't memorize a simple theory? You're not a good boy, Barry."_

 _"_ _You don't deserve freedom nor love. Now, stay here and think about your mistakes."_

God, it hurt so much.

His head hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.

Barry didn't realise that he was tensed and hyperventilating, mumbling incoherent words under his breaths—but Woodward saw the opportunity.

"Damn, you're messed up as fuck, prof," the younger man commented as he lunged towards Barry, pocket knife poised to attack.

What he didn't expect was for his attack to be deflected, the knife bounced onto the ground with a loud clang as Barry towered over Woodward. In his heightened adrenaline state, Woodward would have fought back—he was younger and more muscled than the professor after all—but the unfocused manic glaze in the teary green eyes stunned him frozen, causing him to gulp in nervousness when Barry pushed him down. He struggled, eyes widened in horror and bewilderment at the unbelievable strength that the professor displayed.

He could barely move underneath Barry's grip.

Too strong. Too strong. Barry was oddly too strong for a man of his physique and it almost seemed too easy for him to restrain Woodward using one arm while forcing the young man to swallow the hot cocoa using the other. Woodward choked and trashed as the liquid flow down his throat, but Barry forced his mouth closed till Woodward has no choice but to swallow, tasting the tang of chemical bitterness inside the supposedly sweet cocoa. Once he has swallowed everything, Barry removed his hand away and by then, the twin green glazed eyes seemed more focused and alert—sober now. Barry climbed off Woodward's chest and settled himself with his back against the wall, legs crossed as he gently pulled the weakened young man onto his lap. Woodward let out small pained whimpers, trembling as he started to lose the feel of his limbs, everything seemed so blurry and glazed now.

It was just numbing paralysis at first, but Woodward knew that the drug would soon kill him. He had lost track of time, laying there with his head on Barry's lap, while the other man seemed to be content basking in the silence. Multiple times he tried to speak, but his mouth refused to open, his body grew exhausted and sore as he felt his eyelids grew heavier.

He felt very sleepy.

"Good night, Tony," Barry simply smiled and stroked Woodward's cheek, as if he was soothing a crying child to sleep—or in this case, soothing a drugged young man to death. "I told you that it wouldn't hurt, right?"

Drugged and almost completely out, Woodward nodded once, body growing limp though his face relaxed, making him seem peaceful.

Barry planted one gentle kiss over Woodward's forehead when those eyes fluttered shut forever.

He already knew what kind of art he would turn Woodward into.

* * *

Frost was so sorely tempted to ice Barry Allen.

It was Monday, the first day of the third week of the month, and it was only three days since she somehow ended up as Dr. Barry Allen's ice pack in the dark CCU parking lot. No. They weren't cuddling, despite the way he was leaning against her that night or the way she found his body warmth so irresistible—she was just his ice pack and he needed her to sooth his pain. Full stop. The end. Anyhow, it was only three days since the surgeon got bludgeoned in the head, and the guy was currently in the elevator of Starlabs, balancing coffees and pastry boxes in his arms as he headed to the cortex.

 _I'm going to ice his ass_ , she grumbled to herself as he walked into the cortex—Frost has completely forgotten that she never really has privacy of thoughts whenever Caitlin was awake.

"Frost said that she is going to ice your ass."

If it was possible to ice her own self without feeling pain, Frost would ice Caitlin too.

 _CAITLIN._

Caitlin has the galls to quirk a smile. _I thought you want me to tell him that. Sorry, my bad._

Frost would've glared at Caitlin if they weren't sharing the same body.

Barry halted at the entrance of the cortex upon hearing Caitlin's words, his brows knitted together to a confused frown, twin green eyes squinted in utter confusion as he stared at Caitlin. His hair wasn't styled in his usual sleek look, falling messily over his forehead as if he was trying to hide his bandages. He was wearing a navy blue cotton t-shirt, with dark trench coat and black jeans—all were clothes that were far more casual than his professional look, an indicator that both CCU and the hospital he worked at were still banning him from going to work.

He wouldn't be strolling in here at eleven in the morning if he had to go to work.

Lisa stopped polishing her gun and twirled her chair around, grinning teasingly at Barry who was standing at the entrance of the cortex.

"Oooh, doctor boy, what have you done~?" Lisa teased, although she did stand from her chair and ushered Barry to take a seat at one of the chair near the controls.

"Um, I don't know…?" Barry trailed off, eyes staring warily at Caitlin, his voice trembled slightly in nervousness as he handed the coffee cups to them.

"You're cute, doc," Lisa laughed, squeezing his shoulders, though her face turned solemn when her gaze landed his bandages. "Though I think I can guess why Elsa is mad at you."

"What did I do?"

Lisa sighed and rolled her eyes. "Men."

"What?"

Caitlin and Lisa burst to a knowing giggle while Barry continued staring at them in bewilderment.

Frost snorted.

 _You do realise that he is a surgeon and knows what he is doing right?_ Caitlin pointed out, inhaling the aroma of her coffee with a pleased hum.

 _I'm being reasonable, Caity,_ Frost retorted, a bit too defensive for her own liking. _The guy just got bludgeoned in the head. He should be resting._

Caitlin cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.

Then, Caitlin's smile grew mischievous as she gently squeezed Barry's arm. "You have done nothing wrong, Barry," she started.

Frost sensed Caitlin's intention before her counterpart could even continue talking;

 _Caitlin Snow DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TELL HIM—_

"Frost is just worried about you," an asshole of mind twins she was, Caitlin resumed with a beaming smile, completely ignoring Frost's threats inside their shared sub-conscious. "She thinks that you should be at home resting instead of being here."

 _Fuck you, Caity._

 _Aww, who am I to stop the defrosting of the Frost?_

Barry beamed at them.

"That's very nice of her," he murmured, those bright green eyes stared directly into Caitlin's own, as if Barry was trying to make eye contact with Frost. "Thank you, Frost."

Frost suddenly remembered his warmth, and her memory rolled back to that night she found him injured, when she had the length of his body leaning and curling up against her much colder one. She didn't realise how much she craved human warmth before _that_ happened. She had all of Caitlin's memories, she remembered all the friendly hugs and intimate embrace her softer side had received but it was not _her_ memories. She remembered how it felt to be hugged, but no one but Iris and Len had actually ever hugged her. The team loved to hug Caitlin, but weren't so fond of hugging Frost. They hugged Caitlin, and Frost only got the second-hand experience from Caitlin's eyes. It was like she was looking through a stained glass—she could see and get a hint of what happened, but it wasn't her own experience.

To feel Barry's body warmth that night was the luxury she rarely received.

After all, Iris was dead, and going to Cold to ask for a hug was an ego suicide.

She was grateful that Caitlin was fully asleep that night because she knew that her softer counterpart would never let her live this down. Even now, when Caitlin has noticed her concern towards Barry's health had turned the goody-two shoes Caitlin Snow to that annoying mischievous little sister that Frost never wanted to have.

 _You know, if this keep going on, you might have to change your name from Frost to Chill,_ Caitlin commented, now talking to Frost as Barry had his attention diverted to Lisa, the man was listening silently to the update of Cold's health.

 _Shut up, Caity._

 _I feel the warm butterflies, Frosty. And it doesn't come from my side of the mind._

 _Shut up. I don't do butterflies._

 _Oh, sure. You do penguins._

 _You little—_

Frost was barely able to complete her reply when Caitlin promptly tuned her out, shutting off the link of their shared subconscious instantly. Annoyed for not being able to yell at Caitlin, Frost sulked in the depth of their mind, listening in to their conversation. Lisa was done reporting on Cold's progress, which wasn't much to tell anyway, apart from the older man's persistent to be let out of bed despite his wounds. Barry had proceeded to list down Lisa's tasks to take care of Len, prescribing a much stronger painkiller since Cold has been showing signs of pain despite his constant assurance to the rest of the team that he was fine.

Frost rolled her eyes. _Men_.

"Barry?" Lisa said, stashing the notes into her back pocket, inching closer with a slight hesitant smile. "I know that this is sudden, but...can I hug you?"

Barry blinked once before a smile broke across his face and he was quick to stand and embraced Lisa.

"I'm always up for a hug," he grinned, voice muffled by Lisa's hair.

"Thank you, Barry," Lisa squeezed him tighter to her body. "I know that you said to not mention it, but I need you to know how grateful I am to you. You saved _him_. My brother. My _only_ family," she gave out a small sob. "Thank you so much. I owe you for life."

"Lisa, hush," he soothed, breaking the hug so that he could run his thumbs under Lisa's slightly teary eyes. He levelled their eyes, voice soft and gentle as he assured; "you don't owe me anything. I'm happy to help."

A sob choked through Lisa's giggle. "I could never repay you, Barry."

Barry tilted his head for a moment, seeming thoughtful, but then his teeth flashed in a playful grin. "If you want to repay me so much, there's something you can do."

Needless to say, Lisa perked up in excitement. "What is it?"

Barry grinned again, eyes twinkled mischievously. "Hug me one more time and you have repaid everything, complete with the interest and tax."

Caitlin and Lisa stared at him, dumbfounded at such simple request, before Lisa giggled and leapt into his open arms to hug him again, this time much tighter and closer.

Frost watched in interest when Barry's eyes fluttered close against Lisa's hair, as if he was content being hold and hugged like that. His body has turned completely lax and slumped in Lisa's embrace, his arms clung around the older woman's body like a drowning man holding onto a lifebuoy, not even looking like he wanted to break the contact.

When they did part, Barry's movement was slow, as if he was reluctant to end the hug.

Frost wondered if no one had ever hugged him before or he just the kind of person who loved hugs so much.

Though, before she could ponder even more, Dr. Wells wheeled in, Joe and Cisco were right behind him.

"Dr. Allen," Wells greeted, smiling warmly at Barry. "I'm happy to see you up and well again."

"Morning, Dr. Wells," Barry smiled back, equally warm. "I have had enough rest for these past few days," he said, offering a cup of coffee to the old scientist. "And I'm banned from the hospital's and CCU's compound for the rest of the week…," he shuddered, frowning a bit. "I'm slowly dying out of boredom."

"You should take this chance to have lots of rest, son," Joe muttered, pointedly not looking in Caitlin's direction. "Eight stitches, and you're at risk of mild concussion, Barry. You aren't supposedly out of bed yet."

"Joe," Barry sighed, sounding fondly exasperated. "I'm fine."

"Barry, you don't seem to be in a good shape the last time I saw you."

"The nausea and dizziness have passed. Really," Barry shrugged, nonchalant, yet his tone was assuring. "I spent the whole weekend sleeping and lazing around. That alone is too much rest."

"But—"

"Joe," Barry cut him off, voice firmer now. "I'm not a child. I know what I'm doing."

Both of them then stood there staring at each other—well, Barry was staring while Joe was glaring—two stubborn men, refusing to back down.

As much as Frost agreed that Barry needed to rest more, she was rooting for him this time, since currently, Joe wasn't her favourite member of the team.

She was still salty at his accusation the other day, when he yelled at her for purposely putting Barry in danger by including him into Team Frost. Caitlin was saddened at that outburst, but Frost was mad. It wasn't her fault that she had to reveal her identity to Barry and subsequently lead to Caitlin's invitation and his decision to join Team Frost.

If anything, all of this started when Ripper attacked Len.

Thankfully, Cisco decided to be the one who broke the silence.

"Funny, because I'm pretty sure that he knows best. Out of all of us, he is the best doctor…," Cisco mumbled under his breath, effectively snapping Joe out of his glaring. "No offense, Cait," he grinned at Caitlin, avoiding eye contact with the detective.

"None taken," Caitlin grinned back.

Joe glared at them both.

Cisco yelped and hide behind Lisa.

"Joe," Wells said, firm and authoritative. "I'm sure that we have more pressing matter, right now."

Joe gave Caitlin and Frost one last glare, as if blaming her for everything but he strode to the monitors anyway, plugging in the USB drive. The huge screen on the wall blinked to life and they were greeted with the live footage right outside the city hall where the police was bustling around. Joe exhaled a deep breath, seemingly to hesitate, his eyes darted in Barry's direction, but Wells gave him an encouraging nod, and he firmly set his jaw.

"Brace yourself," he warned and clicked on the button.

The screen then blinked again, before pictures of a bloodied crime scene appeared into view, popping all over the screen, each picture was more gruesome than the other.

" _Ripper_ ," Frost growled, ice crawled up her veins and the next second she was fully in control, platinum white hair bounced angrily as she strode across the room to stand directly in front of the screen.

Joe nodded grimly.

"City Hall," Lisa murmured, striding past Barry to stand just slightly behind Frost. "And let me guess, no one notice when he sneaked inside there to leave the body?"

"Security cameras are hacked, like always, and the guards didn't hear anything," Joe stated, his own lips set into a grim line. "No one noticed the body until Mr. Woodward entered his office."

"Wait, the State Attorney's office?" Lisa interjected, whipping her head around so fast to look at Joe. "He left the body in the State Attorney's office and not one guard hear _anything_?"

Joe shook his head.

"And even worse," Wells started, pulling out a data sheet onto the screen. "The victim was his own son,"

Frost now has her sole attention on the screen, reading through Tony Woodward personal details silently. 19 years old spoiled son of the State Attorney, tall and well-built, has been arrested for few small crimes, and have been a suspect for surprisingly large number of rape accusation but always been released due to 'lack of evidence'. Frost snorted, willing to bet her own powers that Tony had Daddy's help in escaping the rape accusation. She shifted her attention to the crime scene pictures, scanning each picture, trying to look for clues that the police might have missed.

"Did he leave any notes?" She asked, not even removing her gaze from the frontal picture of the grotesque scene. "Did Ripper leave any notes for us?"

"We didn't receive any for now," Joe answered curtly.

Frost nodded, returning her attention back to the screen, though she couldn't help but feel that something was strangely odd about this body.

 _He uses a bit too much props this time, isn't he?_ Caitlin commented, pulling Frost's attention towards the scattered dolls on the floor around Tony's distorted corpse.

 _Yeah. And he is a bit sloppy too_ , Frost added, focusing her attention towards Tony's neatly folded clothing, where she spotted a tiny drop of blood on the otherwise pristine shirt. _Something is off with our killer, Caity._

 _Or he maybe just had a bad day. Maybe he caught the flu. No one can focus when they had a flu._

 _Ha ha hardy-har,_ Frost mocked a sarcastic laugh before turning serious again. _But honestly though. What's with the dolls?_

Really. What's with the dolls?

"Oh. My. God," Cisco said, voice trembled in discomfort. "I hate dolls. Why must he use dolls as his props this time?"

"I agree," Lisa murmured, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. "Ugh, graphic," she groaned, glancing briefly at the pictures, before a violent shudder rolled down her body. " _Graphic_."

Frost had to agree. Tony's body, like all the previous victims, were skinned and stripped off his skin, now looking very much like anatomical figures with only his muscles being shown to the world. The skinned body then was nailed to the walls in a crucifix position, his head hung low as if he was bowing his head in guilt. Surprisingly, the only organ that has been extracted out of his body was his heart, of which it was placed neatly inside the open jewellery box on the table. Though, what that caused discomfort in both Lisa and Cisco was the porcelain dolls surrounding Tony's body. Half of the dolls wore a sad expression, lined on the table in neat rows with one doll wearing black standing in front of the rows, her back facing Tony. It oddly reminded Frost of the environment in the court when people attended a hearing, or like the scene in horror movie where a cult is sacrificing someone to the devil. The dolls that were scattered all over the floor were broken or missing pieces of their porcelain bodies—and they looked either oddly angry or creepily happy, looking as if they were either glowering or taunting Tony's corpses. Few of the least broken of the broken dolls were lined up in front of the corpse, a red string tied to their bodies while the other end of the string was wrapped tight around the base of Tony's stretched mutilated dick—giving the graphic image as if the dolls were happily pulling his dick apart.

Frost winced.

She knew that Tony was dead by the time this mutilation was inflicted but that honestly looked like it hurt.

Though, before she could even say or think of anything, Joe's phone rang, and the detective quickly answered it. There were no spoken words from Joe's part, but Frost could see the detective grew even paler as the call went on.

Joe collapsed onto a chair the moment he ended the call.

"Joe?" Wells wheeled closer, reaching a hand to squeeze Joe's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"He is getting more insane, Harry," Joe mumbled, his voice was barely above a whisper, eyes wide in horror. "We couldn't find Woodward's skin. And he didn't leave any notes in CCPD this time," he wheezed, laughing sharply—the sound was bitter and humourless. "Oh, no. That bastard left a public note this time. It even made the news."

"Public note?" Frost turned around, her heels clicking when she walked up to the control table to switch on the news.

" _…_ _A group of women has found their way to Scarlet Ripper's latest scene, here in a private theatre hall of Clarington's Hotel after following the quote unquote, love_ _notes he left them. The police have yet to give a public statement, but rumours have it that for the first time, Scarlet Ripper killed for a good purpose…._ "

Frost's jaw slacked open in shock.

Joe switched the video clip off. "Manipulative bastard."

Lisa shifted to stand by Joe's side. "What happened, Joe? What did he leave in the theatre hall?"

"Woodward's missing skin," Joe's jaw hardened, his expression was disgusted. "Cut to stripes and been folded and crafted to a bouquet of flowers—"

"Origami of Gore."

"Shut up, Cisco."

"Geez, okay, nobody appreciates me."

Joe quirked a smile when Cisco stalked towards Barry, sulking on the chair behind the surgeon. He exhaled a deep breath, before resuming his words.

"He set up a tea party for the girls, though thank goodness none of them actually sit down and consume anything, since we have no idea if he had the food drugged or not," the detective explained, voice getting more agitated for each word. "The girls are persistent in keeping the love notes once we're done with the investigation though."

Frost cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because they all said that it was the sweetest gesture anyone had ever done to them since the hell Woodward put them through," Joe snapped. "Apparently he wrote short haikus for each of them to tell them how amazing and wonderful women they are."

"Charmer," Lisa commented dryly. "Our killer is a romantic. How _lovely_."

"Let me guess," Wells started, lips set to a tight grim line. "All of the girls were victims of Mr. Woodward's alleged rape accusations? The girls whose reputation and life destroyed because they couldn't prove their accusations?"

"Yep."

"So, I'm guessing that they are very happy Mr. Woodward is dead?"

"They are _ecstatic_ ," Joe snarled. "Because Ripper left something else too," he growled, his hands curled to tight fists on his lap. "A full compilation of undeniable evidences of all of Woodward's alleged crime. Each girl has a copy, left along with the love note."

"Hence the rumours that he killed for a good purpose," Frost concluded, suddenly not knowing what to think.

She was never fond of rapists that got away with their crimes.

Especially those who was from an influential family like Woodward.

 _Frost_ , Caitlin gently reminded. _He is still a killer. He killed Iris and so many other innocents before._

 _He saved the girls' life too,_ Frost countered, but not really arguing, just merely stating the fact. _The evidences would turn the girls' life around. You know that most of them were called attention-seeker and slut once they lost the trial._

 _Frost._

Frost sighed. _I know, Caity. I'm not defending him._

 _Okay…._

"He is humiliating everyone in the law enforcement and manipulated those poor girls to be on his side," Joe ranted, angry and harsh. "Manipulative, sick bastard."

"So you're saying that it is a humiliation to the law enforcement because Ripper gave the justice you couldn't provide to the girls?"

Everyone stopped talking and turned around to stare at Barry, whom had been silently observing them before. He always did that ever since he joined their team. He called it a learning curve, learning to handle the cortex by observing everyone else. It was rare for Barry to give his own input while they were discussing.

"Barry?"

Barry huffed, bowing his head low, arms crossed over his chest, before he finally looked up again, this time his beaming smile was plastered on his face.

Frost noticed that the smile didn't really reached his eyes.

"I guess I have to go down to CCPD, huh?" then, he suddenly shifted the topic, his smile seemed too bright and cheerful. "I'm pretty sure I'm one of the few people who last saw alive."

"I'm still not happy that you didn't press any charges for that assault," Joe muttered, but nodded anyway. "And you're right. Singh told me to ask you to stop by CCPD to help the investigation. No rush, though. Singh says only to bring you in if you're feeling better."

"I'm feeling better," Barry shrugged, though his smile faded slightly. "I don't feel like pressing any charges, Joe. He is just a boy."

"He attacked you."

"Young men are always so hot-blooded."

Frost burst to a laughter.

"Don't speak as if you're not young yourself," she grinned, her hand automatically reached out to lightly punch his arm. "You're just 28 years old."

"Still 9 years older than the poor boy. I'm ancient compared to him."

"Barry, Caitlin said that she is going to lobotomize you if you dare to say that 28 years old is _old_."

Barry laughed. "I didn't say old, I said _ancient_."

Frost was suddenly pulled back into their shared sub-conscious—without her consent—as Caitlin resurfaced and gained control of their body.

Usually, Frost wouldn't be happy with the sudden shift of power, but the moment she heard Caitlin yelled;

"Dr. Bartholomew Henry Allen, I'm going to lobotomize you! We are both 28 years old. WE ARE NOT OLD!"

And then Barry laughed and broke to a run as Caitlin chased after him.

How exactly this man turned the solemn horrified environment to this inappropriately ridiculous chasing scene was a mystery to her—but Joe and Dr. Wells have cracked a smile, Cisco looked less traumatised and Lisa was actually giggling.

He balanced out the dark air in the cortex with his natural charms.

Yep. Frost could let this one slide.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Part of me say that their progress is a bit too fast, but both Barry and Frost rarely had close human contact, so little touches affected them worse than one could predict. They still aren't in love though. Not even close. Just starting off with a mildly-fond friendship.**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter**!


	7. Playing with Fire

**A/N: Un-betaed. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

CCPD was in chaos.

Officers of all ranks were bustling all over the main lobby—answering the ringing phones, scrutinizing over the news on the TV, rushing up and down the stairs while carrying stacks of papers or boxes evidences, fending off the crazy reporters outside—in short, Scarlet Ripper's latest stunt had shaken them.

It was a figurative rain of fire on the law enforcement when the city's infamous serial killer left a stack of evidences against the State Attorney's son whom they had sworn to be innocent during those trials of rape accusations.

It was the worst insult to the integrity of law.

CCPD was in complete chaos.

Barry has been standing here for a good ten minutes and nobody seemed to notice that he was there.

Not that he minded. It was all too amusing and funny to see these officers scrambling around—some of them didn't even bother to control themselves from openly cursing the Scarlet Ripper.

Scarlet Ripper, who was standing right here at the entrance of CCPD's main lobby, right under their collective noses.

Barry wondered if he was just _that_ good at his night job, or everyone at CCPD was an idiot.

It's not that they didn't have a clear picture of his serial killer alias. He had messed up once when he first started out—still being a noob at the hacking thing because Smoak was not as good as she thought when it came to teaching people—and the security camera managed to capture his face, hence leading to people recognizing his scarlet trench coat and prompting Iris to coin his alias in her article. Sure, Barry sprayed his hair to dirty blonde, styled it to haphazard bedhead look and wore a mask and an earring when he was out as Scarlet Ripper….but Photoshop was a thing you know? One of them should have bound to notice the resemblance.

It wasn't surprising that Iris was the only one who has noticed the resemblance.

She was attentive and sharp, observant and daring—so unlike the detectives of CCPD. Barry still remembered the first time he met her, when she chased after him through the darkness of the snowy Christmas night—the impossible height of her stiletto heels did not stop her from catching up with him. He almost got caught that night, unable to use his planned escape routes due to her quick thinking to suggest a blockade plan to the police. It was so close, and Barry was only able to escape the close call because the Flash just happened to visit this Earth and zipped his ass away.

If Joe had allowed Iris to go to police academy, and she graduated to be an officer, Barry would've had a constant hard time evading capture, no matter how many super-powered villains from Dark Earth he had in his speed dial.

Though, it still didn't stop him from playing with the fiery fire of Iris West as he agreed to her invitation for a coffee a week after that, right after the new year break.

The thrill of being so near to the woman who almost caught him had made him easily agreed to her requests for interviews, despite the nagging voice at the back of his head which told him that it was a bad idea to involve himself with that one reporter who was dead set on investigating his night-time alter ego. It must be a villain thing—to have that undeniable urge to get to know the nemesis who was obsessed to put him behind bars.

Then, his path crossed with the heroes, as he fought against Frost on one of his night-out, and he just happened to hear her voice coming from Frost's comms.

Iris West suddenly became even more interesting then.

He said more 'yes' to her whenever she invited him out for a more casual coffee, the interviews got even less as they started talking about completely random things until the professional meetings suddenly changed to coffee dates.

The Flash had noticed his growing interest towards Iris and warned him that it was a bad idea—the speedster was talking from experience, having once been engaged to another version of Iris—but Barry heeded his doppelganger no attention.

He had fallen for her.

And he fell _hard_.

It was indeed a bad idea.

"Dr. Allen!"

Barry immediately schooled his face to a pleasant smile when the captain strode across the room towards him—the man looked dishevelled and exhausted despite it was barely past lunch hour as he offered his hand to shake Barry's own.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," Singh said, his words came out in a half-wheeze, as if he just finished running a marathon. "We're a bit busy here…," he gave Barry a tight smile, half-turning his body away to lead Barry to his office. "The media is hounding our ass."

Barry let his smile slipped to an amused smirk for a split second before he quickly changed his expression to an impersonation of sunshine.

"I saw the news," he simply commented, amused that he was led into the captain's office rather than the usual interrogation room. "You're in a tight spot."

Singh sighed but gave him a smile anyway. "We will cope," he said, motioning Barry to sit on the chair while he took his own. "Thank you for coming so quickly, even with your injury…," he trailed off, eyeing the bandages wrapped around Barry's head with concerned eyes before quickly squaring his shoulders, more formal now. "We just need you to recount the events of Mr. Woodward's assault on you that night, and if there is anything else that you noticed that could help our investigation."

"Of course," Barry shrugged and smiled pleasantly. "I'm happy to help the police."

There was a sharp knock before the office's door opened, and entered a female officer who instantly closed the door as soon as she walked in.

"Detective Spivot," Singh greeted, motioning to a seat next to him. "Have a seat."

"Captain, Dr. Allen," she greeted once she was seated, nodding towards them in acknowledgement, her form was rigid and professional, and the shine in her eyes were focused when Singh motioned her to start. She looked straight into Barry's eyes, pen ready to scribble on her notepad as she spoke. "Dr. Allen, can you recount the assault on you that happened Thursday night last week? Starting from the beginning."

"I left my office around eleven," Barry started, amused at her rigid professionalism. "And spend a few minutes to chat with Grant and Thomas—the night guards of the day—before heading to my car at the parking lot," he paused, pretending to recall the events despite having perfect memory on what had happened. "I was putting my students' assignments at the passenger seat when I was attacked."

"Do you see your attacker?"

"Yes."

"Can you describe the assault?"

"He, uh, pulled me out of the car, and punched me in the guts. I get to see his face then before I was hit and blacked out."

"And you recognize your attacker as one of your students, Mr. Tony Woodward?"

"Technically, he is not in my class, therefore not one of my students. But, yes, it was him."

"Is he alone? Do you see anyone else with him? Or anything that might indicate someone else was there on the scene?"

Barry paused for a moment, brows knitted together, pressing two fingers over his temple like he was trying to remember, squeezing his eyes shut as if the attempt to remember has hurt his head. He must have looked convincing, because Singh stretched his arm to the side, motioning Spivot to stop, the captain's brows furrowed in concern.

"Dr. Allen?" Singh asked, voice laced with concern. "Are you okay? Should we stop?"

Barry waved him away assuringly. "I'm sorry," he quirked a weak smile, glossing over the illusion of being the poor victim here. "It's okay, I can go on," he assured when Singh opened his mouth to protest. He then shifted his gaze to Spivot, "I think he is alone…," he said, faking hesitance. "I only saw him before he knocked me out," he frowned. "And by the time I come to my senses, he is gone."

"Do you notice anything off?" Spivot asked, this time her voice was less rigid and more concerned. "Like someone else in the parking lot, or anything that is out of ordinary?"

"I….," Barry took his sweet time pretending to recall his memories before shaking his head. "I don't think so…," he trailed off, before his mind decided to mess with the police. "The only weird thing that I could remember was…like, just before I completely blacked out…I felt a gush of sudden breeze and saw…lightnings…?" he trailed his voice softer near the end, faking confusion, while internally holding back a barrage of laughter as both Spivot and Singh paled upon his words. "But I was hit on the head and was pretty much almost out of it that time…," he gave them a sheepish grin. "I might have been seeing things…"

Singh and Spivot exchanged a glance.

Barry knew what they were thinking.

No. They did not think that he was seeing things.

The police were still scared and terrified of speedsters after Zoom's reign of terror last year. The whole CCPD was accustomed to associate unexplained gush of breeze and lightnings with speedsters. And since Team Frost and few officers of CCPD including Singh have been secretly exchanging information under the pretence of protecting the city, Barry knew that Joe had informed them about his and Savitar's outing the other day.

They would be in a more panicked state at the knowledge of Scarlet Ripper having a speedster as an ally.

Though, they didn't seem to want to share that information with a mere civilian like Dr. Allen, so both of them gave Barry a tight smile and nodded understandingly. Spivot closed her notepad while Singh stood, offering his hand towards Barry, signalling the end of the session.

"Thank you for your help, Dr. Allen," Singh said, voice slightly trembling but he masked it well. "Do inform us if you remember anything else."

Barry grasped Singh's hand and gave the captain a beaming smile. "It's always a pleasure to help," he nodded at both police officers. "And I will inform you if I remember anything else."

Barry only dropped his facade when he was in his car, resting his forehead against the steering wheel as he giggled in amusement. He was honestly enjoying messing with the police so much, it was such a hilarious entertainment.

Though, what he didn't expect was to hear the passenger seat door of his car being opened and closed. And before he could even lift his head to look at the intruder, a cold hand pressed against his head, the cold felt soothing and amazing against his injury. He lifted his head up and glanced to the passenger seat, only to be greeted with the taunting smirk on Caitlin Snow's face.

Barry quirked a smirk too, recognizing the malicious shine in those brown eyes.

"Hey, _Killer_ ," he tipped his head, his smirk grew when her eyes switched to merciless white. "Come to see my new masterpiece?"

This was not the same Caitlin Snow who chased after him this morning, nor was she the same Frost that he leant against last Thursday.

This was Killer Frost, the Flash's first doctor and his best friend.

"I'm delivering more blood samples for you," Killer Frost said, lips curled to a taunting smirk. "Savitar said that you didn't get to take some on your own."

Barry rolled his eyes. "Barry snapped and caused a city-wide black-out," he huffed in annoyance. "It's difficult to draw blood from him when he gone crazy. And it was difficult for me to work on my masterpiece in the middle of darkness that he caused."

"Not like it stops you from completing your masterpieces," she commented, uncaring. "And you're getting sloppy, Rip," she hummed, pressing her hand more against his bandages and he found himself sighing as his eyes fluttered close, leaning to her soothing touch. "There was a drop of blood on the kid's shirt," she grinned, eyes darting to his bandaged head. "It could have been _your_ blood."

"I noticed," Barry hummed, remembering the droplet of blood he saw in the pictures that Joe brought to cortex earlier of the morning.

He admitted that it was a mistake of his part, not realising that the little scuffle he had when Woodward had fought back had reopened one of his stitches, and a drop of his blood dripped on the kid's shirt. He had washed and dried the clothes like he usually did, but he didn't notice that the stain didn't wash away. He only realised his slip when he watched Frost scrutinized that picture with immense concentration.

It was a good thing that he has his speedster doppelganger on speed dial.

"I trust Savitar to already clean it up by now."

"He is not happy you disturb his sleeping schedule, you know?" she cackled, before her tone turned firmer. "And for fuck's sake, stop flirting with my doppelganger."

"Aw, come on," he murmured, opening one eye to look at her, his smirk was teasing. "Caitlin Snow is cute, and the Frost is adorable."

She glared at him, but her hand remained on his head as he nuzzled closer to her palm.

"If you dare to associate _Killer_ Frost with any of those two adjectives…," she growled, ice mist forming at the tips of her sharp manicured fingers, making him leant away from her hand.

"Nah, Killer. You're nowhere near the cuteness level of your heroic doppelganger."

She smirked fondly, and gave his shoulder a light punch. "You ass."

Barry smirked. "If it's any consolation, I think your sadistic streak is sexy."

" _Charming,_ Ripper," Killer Frost rolled her eyes, huffing coldly. "This is why you only have one girlfriend in your 28 years of life. And even then, you murdered her."

"Ouch, that hurts," Barry mocked an insulted look before his face fell to a solemn poker face as he reversed his car out of the parking space and started driving off. "Why are you here, though? Surely you aren't worried of me, right?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Rip."

"Aww, Killer. You broke my heart."

"Your charms will only work on my goody-two-shoes doppelganger, _Dr. Allen_."

"Because you have no heart for me to charm."

"Having a heart is for weaklings."

Barry laughed but didn't argue as he sped his car till the scenery outside the tinted window was a blur of colours, all the while wishing he could breeze through his past like the way his car breezed past other cars. He wanted to leave his memories with Iris behind, wanting so bad to leave everything in the locked box of his past. Killer Frost was right. Having a heart is for weaklings.

He had learnt his lesson from the disaster with Iris after all.

* * *

Barry was getting better at handling the cortex.

Frost decided on that as she entered the calm dimness of Starlabs hallway after a long night of successful patrol.

It was just the three of them tonight—Barry, Frost and Cisco—because Lisa is staying at home to look after Len, Dr. Wells unfortunately caught a flu and was bedridden while Joe had to stay overtime at CCPD to deal with the after effects of Ripper's latest stunt. Barry has stubbornly insisted on handling the cortex, being bored to death since he was still banned from going to work. After listening to his assurance that he has been sleeping for the whole afternoon, Frost reluctantly agree to let him stay overnight to handle the cortex.

It was nice to hear his voice in her comms—a refreshing change, if you ask her.

Cisco has vibed her back to the Starlabs once they were done with the patrol, before he quickly went back home, mumbling something about catching up on Dr. Who's episodes. Frost had rolled her eyes at that, not really a fan of the series, preferring Games of Thrones instead. She was briefly wondering if Barry even had a favourite series when she entered the cortex and saw him staring blankly at the monitor.

She cocked an eyebrow, recognizing the familiar movement of cells infected with dark matters—only that this one was unlike any other meta-cells that she and Caitlin had studied. Oh, no. This was no ordinary meta, she was sure of it. Most other metas have _traces_ of dark matter inside their cells, but this specimen he was looking at—the cells had merged with the dark matter. If other metahuman like her and Cisco only have a tiny portion of their biology been changed and altered by the dark matter, this specimen has completely merged with the dark matter.

It was like this person has been soaked inside a tub of dark matter rather than being exposed to its radiation, hence causing his cells to be completely altered. Frost would've thought that Barry was analysing an alien species if she didn't recognize the little familiar traits of metahuman cells on the screen.

"Whose blood sample is that?" she asked curiously, quirking a smirk when he jumped a bit as if she had startled him.

His movement was painstakingly slow when he turned around to face her, and even then, he was avoiding meeting her eyes and opted to stare at her ear instead.

As if she didn't know that he was employing that trick.

"I thought you went back home," he muttered.

"We have a lounge that we could crash in here," she shrugged, nonchalant. "Plus, Caitlin is going to take over soon anyway, and she wanted to do a little research."

"Oh," he breathed out, looking sheepish. "Sorry that I use your equipment," he said, tilting his head in the direction of Caitlin's little work station.

"Nah, we don't mind," Frost shrugged again, eyeing him with interest. "Whose blood is that?"

Barry remained silent.

"Barry?" she pressed on, pulling the chair beside him and sat there, her gaze landed on the screen and she couldn't help but feel awed at the rapid movement of the cells displayed on the screen.

She had never seen anything like this. It was from a blood sample, as she could recognize the shape of the blood cells, but it wasn't anything that she had ever seen. The cells moved rapidly, colliding with one another as if they were constantly buzzing with charged energy. She picked up the high reading of heat on the monitor, noting on the abnormal count of red and white blood cells in the sample and had to wonder if this specimen was even alive. No one could stand such high radiation of dark matter.

A human's body would be destroyed if it has been exposed to this level of radiation.

Frost shifted her gaze back to Barry, noting the hesitance on his face, the contemplative purse of his lips and the furrow of his brows, that she decided to lean back against her seat and waited for him to decide.

She hoped he decided to tell her.

Barry finally let out a sigh.

Frost instantly lean closer, noting the resigned look in his eyes.

"He is someone dear to me," he quirked a half-smile, shifting his gaze back to the monitor. "And he suffered so much…He was constantly in pain," he murmured, nodding towards the monitor. "I have tried to formulate painkillers to ease his pain, but his system just devoured everything."

"With this level of radiation in the cells?" Frost commented, jerking her chin to the monitor. "I'm amazed that he is even alive."

Barry laughed humourlessly. "He is a fighter."

"He is your brother. I don't expect anything less," she shrugged coolly, quirking a smirk when his bowed head snapped up to stare at her in surprise.

There was a beat of silence.

"How did you—"

"I'm not always asleep when Caitlin is awake you know?" she cut him off, her lips curled just slightly with a hint of smile. "I recall you telling her that you had lots of drugs at your disposal because you're trying to formulate a new painkiller for your _other_ brother," she huffed, smirking cockily. "And the conversation in the car after the funeral? I heard it too."

"You shouldn't eavesdrop other people's conversation," he chided her, mocking the tone of a disappointed parent.

"It's not like you're making an effort to hide your conversation, doc."

Barry burst to a laughter.

"Fair enough," he admitted.

"Though, I do recall hearing you said that whatever that the kid is suffering is not related to his physiology," she commented, recalling Caitlin's memory of the phone conversation he had in his car after the funeral. "This is definitely related to physiology," she added, pointing to the monitor.

Barry cocked an eyebrow, amused. "First, he is turning 34, and trust me that he won't appreciate you calling him a kid. Second, you're mistaking a few things," he started, enlarging the tab that was displaying the analysis of the cells. "This radiation often plunges him into constant state of immense pain, but it shouldn't influence his brain activity," he explained, bringing out another tab, this time displaying brain scans of a person. "His doctor and I conducted all the tests that we could think of, and none showed that his altered cells could cause delusions or put him in a trance."

"Delusions?" Frost frowned.

"He occasionally retreated to this sort of trance that he was convinced that everyone is out to hurt him," he sighed, his face crestfallen. "It was bad because he turned defensively violent to anyone that tried to reach out for him when he was in that state. We managed to subdue him once, just long enough to run some tests on him," he sighed, slumping against the chair. "The result was the same with the time when he wasn't in that mind state."

Frost pursed her lips. That did sound like more of a mental problem rather than physical.

"And he is a meta, right?" she prompted, wondering how the hell they managed to subdue this man long enough to run tests on him. "A powerful meta, if his cells were any indicator. How did you even subdue him?" she frowned in disbelief.

Barry shrugged. "He has a soft spot on Savvi. And we have lots of super strong tranquilizer," he stated blankly, before letting out a long suffering sigh. "Not that it was enough to knock him out though."

Frost pursed her lips thoughtfully, contemplating to wake Caitlin up but then decided against it. She could do a decision on her own without consulting Caitlin.

"I can help you," she offered, scooting her chair closer. "Two brains are better than one, right?" she said tentatively, feeling so much like Caitlin right now and wondered what the fuck had happened to her that she was always softer around Barry's presence. "Three, counting Caitlin's brain, or even four, if your brother's doctor wanted to join in," she rolled her eyes, internally wincing at the fact that she was technically rambling stupid shit.

Barry stared at her for a long time before his lips quirked to a genuine warm smile.

"You're not so different as you think you are," he murmured, reaching a hand to brush her hair off her face. "Caitlin and Frost, you two are the two sides of the same coin," he said, his smile turned softer and gentler. "You are Caitlin and she is you."

Frost swallowed back the bile into her throat, remembering the different way people seemed to behave around her when Frost was dormant as compared to when Caitlin was dormant. People tended to be more cautious and on edge when they were around her but was more laidback and friendly whenever Caitlin was dormant. It was as if they were expecting her to randomly give them frost bites if they happened to offend her.

Sure, she jokingly implied that she would do that, but they should have known that she was joking right?

Oh, who was she kidding. They took her words seriously, and believe that she would snap and hurt them if they pissed her off. And not to mention her abnormally cold temperature that made standing near her required layers of sweater, even during summer. The team preferred Caitlin over Frost when it comes to offering assuring physical touch.

Iris and Len were exceptions to that, and occasionally Lisa too, but it still hurt to remember the warmth and comfort in Caitlin's memories but rarely receiving it as herself.

And now she was sure Barry was trying to replace Iris as her source of comfort.

"You do realise that I'm more violent than Caitlin, right?" she hissed, trying to not get distracted with the way he was gently tucking her hair behind her ear. "Isn't that a prominent difference?"

"Caitlin threatened to lobotomize me, while you threatened to ice my ass," he retorted, his teasing grin grew bigger when she scowled at him. "Both of you are equals—equally violent, equally smart, equally adorable, and equally terrifying."

Frost stared at him, blinking in disbelief. Did he just…?

"Is that how you flirt, doc?" Frost drawled, praying so hard that Caitlin didn't wake up to witness this because there was no way her softer side was going to let Frost live this down.

For once, someone said that she was an equal to Caitlin.

Frost didn't know how she was going to survive if anyone knew about this odd warmth that fluttered from her stomach to her chest.

Frost didn't do the whole butterflies in stomach thing, you know?

But for some unknown reason, she felt so happy and appreciated.

Barry shrugged, still smiling. "Is it working?"

Frost rolled her eyes and gave a light shove to his shoulder.

The action caused a sharp pain to spread out from her wrist to her hand. She hissed, shrugging off her blue jacket and dumping her gloves away as she stared at the swell on her wrist. She did feel the pain when she was thrown across the street by the crazy Hulk meta who was terrorizing the city earlier. She didn't have time to check whether it was really broken or just a sprain as she worked with Cisco to defeat the crazy meta, and by the time the meta got away, her adrenaline ran high that she didn't even notice the pain until she shoved him. Scowling, she conjured a ball of ice to sooth her pain, only to be shocked when Barry reached out to gently grasp her hand, his skin was incredibly warm to her cold ones.

"We need an X-ray," he said, handling her hand with immense care, eyes scrutinizing the swell—he was already in his doctor mode. "But I'm positive that it is a fracture that your healing rate could heal in a day," Barry nodded, standing up as he led her to the medbay.

Frost's lips curled to a smirk. "I usually treat my own wounds, you know?"

"Not on my watch, Frost," he grinned. "Now, let me have a look on your wrist."

Frost rolled her eyes again, but complied to his orders as he was treating her wrist. It was indeed a minor fracture, but since she was reckless and did not attend to her injury quickly, her fractured bones have shifted. Her injury has worsened that Barry needed to conduct a mini surgery to realign her fractured bones back. So, by the time he was done fixing her wrist, she has almost nodded off to sleep. Perhaps Barry had noticed her exhaustion too, because she ended up being carried bridal-style to the lounge next to the medbay and was placed on the couch, her bare feet soon were on his lap. She watched in confusion when Barry switched on the TV—he flicked through random channels before he settled on the morning news—and her confused frown grew even more when he draped the blanket over her mid-riff as he slumped his back against the soft furniture.

She didn't know what to think when he almost immediately be engrossed with the TV, though his hand moved all over her feet, giving her the foot rub she didn't expect to ever receive.

"Barry?" she called out, curling up against her side of the couch, not even paying attention to the TV.

Barry's hands on her feet were far too distracting for her to focus on anything else. It felt so good. After an eventful night of running and vibing across the city, sending kicks and punches and blasts of ice to crazy metahuman that disturbed the peace of her city—this unexpected foot rub was a god send.

"Hmm?"

"I'm not complaining, but why the sudden foot rub?"

He stiffened for a moment, his hands stopped massaging her feet. When he turned his face to look at her, he seemed embarrassed, cheeks dusted with the lightest tinge of pink.

"I…," he coughed, clearing his throat. "It's just…that, you know, you ran all over the city tonight, broke your wrist...and you looked so exhausted...," he shrugged, his voice getting softer, almost meek, "I remembered that Iris always enjoyed a foot rub after long day at work, so I think...," he gave out nervous laugh, his hands remained static on Frost's feet. "I think you deserve a foot rub," he coughed again, laughing, "I'm sorry. I should have asked."

Frost felt a pang of pain at the mention of Iris, guilt welled up in her chest as she heard the crack in his voice when he talked about Iris. There were too many things had happened after the funeral that have distracted Frost from mourning over her lost friend. Barry probably wouldn't have the same distraction, so she couldn't help but feel guilty upon hearing the longingness in his words when he shared his memory with Iris.

"Don't be sorry," Frost wriggled her toes, smirking playfully at him. "I'm totally not complaining, doc," she trailed, noting the amused quirk of his smile when he continued massaging her feet. "Go on. Pamper me with your heavenly hands."

"You put your life in line to protect the city," he laughed, pressing slightly on the sore spot on the arch of her feet. "This is the least that I can do. You deserve it."

She smirked back, slumping even more comfortably against the armrest of the couch, her broken wrist cradled to her chest as she basked in the way those calloused warm hands were spoiling her feet. He shifted his attention back to the TV and watched the morning news silently, though his hands were moving like they know every inch of Frost's feet, pressing and massaging all the right places that made Frost buried her face to the couch and bit down on her lower lip to stop the incoming pleased moan.

She remembered back when he and Iris just started dating, Iris has called Caitlin and talked about her new boyfriend, who apparently enjoyed cooking for her, like cuddles, would willingly accompany Iris to go shopping whenever he was free and the best part—enjoyed giving her foot and back rubs every time he noticed that Iris was tired.

Iris said that foot rubs was a heaven after long day at work but Frost didn't know that it would feel _this_ good.

Frost has commented that Iris caught a rare species of man, because from the way she talked about Barry, it seemed like he was the rare species of male kind who took pleasure in spoiling his girl and would do everything that common men shied away from. Iris was a lucky bitch and Frost was dying to be introduced to Barry.

Of course, Caitlin has worded it nicely, telling Iris that she was lucky to meet such respectable nice man, and once the new couple has gotten to know each other more properly, she hoped Iris would introduce Barry to her.

Not how Frost would say it, but Caitlin got the message across.

But damn, Iris wasn't lying. Barry was _good._

He knew what he was doing—probably have countless practices and experiences with his past girlfriends—as he moved his hands from her ankles to toes, kneading on the arch of her feet with just the right pressure, paying attention to her right foot first before shifting to the left, and with the dim lighting of the lounge, Frost found herself being incredibly relaxed, curling up more comfortably to the couch as she slipped to her much-needed sleep.

Needless to say that Caitlin was incredibly confused when she took the reign from Frost and wake up to an amazing morning foot rub.

But no. Nope. She wasn't complaining at all.

* * *

 **A/N:** **So, Barry has achieved one of his goals to infiltrate Team Frost...which is to get the help to heal the Flash. And he might genuinely enjoy spoiling Frost, or simply want to mess with her head. I mean, he already had his fun at CCPD right?**

 **This is more of a filler chapter, because I just want to fulfill this fantasy of mine to see Barry giving foot rub to Frost and she tried so hard to not show that she was enjoying it. I'm back to my original outline in the next update.**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter!**


	8. Cold Warmth

**A/N: Unbeta-ed. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

It took him four months.

Four full months before he returned to the apartment he had shared with Iris.

And even then, Caitlin noticed his hesitance as they stood in front of the building, stack of folded boxes by their feet.

Caitlin didn't think that he was ready to return to this apartment, but it was time to move on.

Barry was there when the topic was brought up in their mini celebration dinner. Joe was the one who brought up the topic when he asked Caitlin if she wanted to have a look at Iris' belongings before he donated them to charity. The detective thought it's time to move on, and since he only has Wally left, there was no point in keeping all of Iris' stuffs that were still at her childhood home.

Barry lost his appetite after that.

That was last week. Barry didn't come to the cortex after that night, telling them that he was busy with his jobs, especially now that it was the finals week for CCU while some of his patients at the hospital required close monitoring and full attention from him. It was understandable that he wouldn't have time to spare for Team Frost.

Though, Caitlin had a hunch that he wasn't telling the complete truth.

Joe couldn't have chosen an even worse timing to ask that question.

It was honestly a bad timing. Barry seemed like he was finally getting over Iris' death, as he was no longer overworking himself. Frost had commented on it multiple times, because it was exhausting to watch him juggling between CCU, the hospital, Team Frost and his increasing volunteerism, but he simply smiled at her despite her worries. Thus, it was a relief when he started paying attention to his rest time recently, and no longer declining the team's invitation to the bar for the break he deserved. It was a great progress, because despite the cheerful and unfazed behaviour he displayed ever since the funeral, Caitlin noticed that he was avoiding any topic about Iris, and if he couldn't avoid it, he would suddenly volunteer at random shelter or orphanage the very next free time he had, and there were always cracks in his voice or facial expressions whenever they breached the topic.

It was a bad timing of Joe's part to tell them that the West's were giving Iris' stuffs away when Barry had shown such great progress. The downtrodden expression on Barry's face was prominent even with the festivities mood of the dinner at Dr. Wells' house—his mood was completely ruined for the rest of the night. Caitlin felt bad for him, because they were supposed to have fun that night, in the belated welcoming party for Barry as well as celebrating Len's full recovery and the months of silence from Scarlet Ripper.

Yep, speaking of a more serious news, it has been three months since the serial killer last made a move.

Woodward's murder was the last case of the serial killer and true to the fashion of the flamboyant serial killer—even his last stunt was an extravagant end. CCPD and the City Hall had gone under fire after Ripper's stunt. The media seemed to focus more on Tony Woodward's scandal rather than highlighting the gruesome murder, that it seemed like they have forgotten that the serial killer was still on the loose. The civilians started questioning the integrity of law and demanded for each officer in CCPD to be investigated to be sure that they were not corrupted. The State Attorney was stripped off his position and power as each of his dirty secrets suddenly come to surface, plunging the Woodward family into the depth of disgrace.

The months went by, and it wasn't after the scandal calmed down did they finally realised that the Ripper has missed his deadline.

For three months.

He missed his scheduled murders for three months.

Speculations started to spring out then, saying that Woodward's murder was the grand finale of the Scarlet Ripper's show of terror. Newspaper headlines, TV shows and online articles were hot on discussing the sudden disappearance of the serial killer, though CCPD and most of Team Frost were trying to convince themselves that Woodward was the last time they would deal with Ripper's handiwork.

Caitlin and Frost, on the other hand, believed that this was just the calm before the storm.

And if that wasn't bad enough, Barry seemed like he was plunged back into deep grief.

"We could do this later, you know?" Caitlin offered, placing her hand over his shoulder in assuring gesture. "We can pack her belongings later."

Barry blinked, almost in slow-motion while his throat bobbed, and his jaw set tight, making it seemed like he was swallowing bile and the bitterness had hurt him. He tilted his head to look at her, his smile was plastic, green eyes dull—and it was the first time Caitlin had seen him so broken. He didn't even behave like this during the funeral.

But the idea to fully get rid of the traces of Iris from his life must have cracked him.

"It's okay," he shook his head and picked up the folded boxes, his voice was soft as he led her inside. "I already had a buyer. We need to clear this place soon anyway," he murmured as they entered the elevator, heading to his floor.

He unlocked and opened the door for her, motioning her to step inside.

The moment she stepped inside, Caitlin felt like she was dragged back to her university years when she often crashed at Iris' place on her bad days.

This apartment screamed Iris everywhere. She must have been in charge of the interior design, since this was a complete contrast to Barry's own penthouse. While Barry seemed to prefer minimalist style, Iris preferred homey and comfort style. The warm colour scheme, soft and plush furniture with extra blankets and cushion, as well as the clusters of pictures on the walls—this was the home everyone wished to return to.

Caitlin found herself striding towards the cluster of frames on the table at the corner, her own lips quirked into a melancholic smile upon seeing the glittery pink frame at the center. Once upon years ago, a drunk and heartbroken Caitlin had gone into a DIY mode and made this stupid frame for Iris, claiming that Iris was the love of her life since all men suck and impossible to date or love. The other woman merely laughed at her drunken babble and accepted the frame, holding Caitlin close as Caitlin cried her heart out for yet another unsuccessful relationship.

It was beautifully melancholic that the picture in the frame was the one they had taken the very next day, when a very cheerful Iris dragged the still hungover Caitlin for a trip to the petting zoo.

Despite the hungover, Caitlin was still able to smile when Iris insisted on a picture of them hugging the cute alpaca.

Well, attempting to hug the alpaca was a more accurate description. They had a proper picture of them hugging the alpaca like a normal tourist, the picture that Caitlin chose as the background of her personal laptop, but Iris has chosen the more disastrous of the pictures taken on that day—of which when the alpaca become affectionate with Caitlin while Iris being an ass of a best friend and did nothing to help Caitlin.

The picture was of a very hungover and shocked Caitlin receiving a wet lick from the alpaca while Iris beamed at the camera, her dark brown eyes squinted in glee while she has her hands frozen in mid-clap.

Caitlin couldn't believe that Iris displayed this picture in the apartment that she shared with her boyfriend.

"Both of you are so cute."

Caitlin turned around towards Barry, feeling heat rose to her cheeks when she realised that he had been seeing this embarrassing picture for months without even been properly introduced to her. He didn't look like he was judging her youthful silliness though, as his gaze fixed on the picture, his eyes softened and completely unguarded, thus allowing Caitlin to notice the waves of emotions inside those green orbs.

"I was so depressed back then," Caitlin smiled sheepishly. "And Iris was a perfect best friend."

"She is perfect," he agreed easily, eyes still fixed on the frozen image in the frame before he reached out to take the frame from her hand, his thumb brushing over the glass longingly. "She is the kind of soothing comfort you want to return home and curl up to."

Caitlin couldn't even disagree.

Iris was her comfort—be it when Caitlin Snow was dormant or when Frost was holding the reign.

Barry's soft snicker then attracted her attention, and she felt her cheeks heated up again when she saw that he had picked up a few more frames from the cluster—all were the pictures of her and Iris. There were two pictures placed in a twin picture frame—at one side was the picture when Iris came to Caitlin's university graduation and the other woman was holding her tight in a proud embrace, while the other side was the exact same situation, only that Iris was the one in graduation robes. There was a collage of pictures from their vacation at the beach right after college graduation, just the two of them—two single ladies having fun belly dancing—and Caitlin had Iris' lips pressed smack on her cheek in one of the pictures in the collage.

Caitlin didn't know what to feel to know that Iris had dedicated this corner for the memories of their friendship.

"I used to worry you know?" Barry started, placing one frame back on the table, just to pick up another one. "She had lots of pictures with you, and all of them, are like, dated back years in the past, and you girls look so close…," he grinned, showing her a particularly scandalous picture of Caitlin and Iris doing the pocky challenge—their noses were touching while Caitlin was tilting her head to bite more of the chocolate biscuit.

Caitlin was blushing for real right now.

The upturn of Barry's smile was teasing and mischievous as he added, "I honest to god thought that you two were a couple and I was her unknowing beard."

"Oh, god, NO!" Caitlin quickly denied, embarrassed at the thought. "Iris would never toy with anyone's heart like that!" she defended, gesturing in complete panic at the picture, "that was a party game, I swear! We were trying to get that minimum 1.5 cm length to win the challenge," she spluttered out, honestly wondering why Iris displayed pictures like this at open place where her boyfriend could easily see. "She truly loves you!"

Barry stared at her for a long silent moment before he finally cracked a genuine grin of the day.

"I know, Cait," he laughed, placing back the frame onto the table. "Though I do admit, that the first month we moved in together, I was honestly wondering if you are her secret girlfriend," he shrugged and laughed softly. "She had all of these intimate moments with you on display, but never introduce us—so I was wondering if she was hinting to _that_ possibility."

Mortified and embarrassed, Caitlin was grateful that Frost was completely asleep since her mental counterpart was still exhausted after the battle last night. God, her alter-ego enjoyed acting gay with Iris and Lisa. Frost even had once given Lisa a lap dance, and a strip show to Iris in one of their girls' sleepover—and that was without any alcohol involved.

Frost would have a field day if she knew that this topic was brought to light.

"She probably never introduces us because she wanted to groom you properly," Caitlin suggested, trying to force her blush away as she added, "…. you know, so that I would have no reason to disapprove you."

Barry's expression contorted to a pained look for a split second before he quickly replaced it with a smile.

The smile seemed forced and Caitlin couldn't help but wince.

"So, did I gain the best friend's seal of approval, Cait?" he laughed, his voice sounded so monotonous and his cheerful expression was obviously forced.

Caitlin felt her heart break for him.

"Yes, Barry, yes," Caitlin nodded, spreading her arms, an offer for a hug. "You're the best man Iris has ever dated. You earned my stamp of approval."

He accepted her offer in a heartbeat, his taller body went pliant in her arms—as if he was melting right there in her cold embrace. It always amazed her that Barry seemed to not have any problem with her naturally cold temperature. Barry never flinched away, even in the coldest of nights; he never subtlety grabbed a sweater and wore it whenever he needed to be near to Frost and he never turned down any offer or chance to hug her—be it when she was Caitlin or Frost.

Caitlin had no questions why in these few months since he joined their team, Barry suddenly became Frost's favourite person, ranking above Lisa and Len, but still slightly below Iris.

She held him tight, patting his back when she heard the slightest sound of choked sob from his throat, knowing how much he had loved Iris, and returning here was a painful reminder that she was gone from their life.

They fell into silence after that. Caitlin remained in the living room—feeling too intrusive to follow Barry into the bedroom—as she started sorting out the personal effects in the living room into the boxes. Barry had planned to sell most of the furniture along with the apartment, opting to only take few of the furniture he was personally attached to, but even excluding that, there were so many personal effects to be sorted out. Caitlin recognized the quilt blanket she and Iris had sewn from their old t-shirts, a fond smile spread on her face as she remembered the other half of the blanket that was folded neatly on Caitlin's own bed back at her apartment. She also recognized all the DIY projects Iris had taken interest in, being the first person that the reporter would send pictures of her completed projects. The picture frames needed to be taken down too—most were pictures of Iris and Barry, with few with her family and also that one corner dedicated to Caitlin and their years of friendship; while the rest were paintings that Iris was fond of.

It took Caitlin two long hours of sorting to notice that there seemed to be nothing that belonged to Barry here.

Did Barry have no personal items in here?

Caitlin didn't have any time to ponder the question because the bedroom door opened, and Barry's legs made appearance as he kicked a box into the living room, the upper half of his body was hidden behind the boxes he was carrying. He placed the boxes down, huffing a heavy breath as he grinned at Caitlin.

"I have never noticed how much clothes she has in the closet…," he huffed, nodding to one of the boxes from the stacks that he had carried out. "That was mine and the rest were hers."

Caitlin gave him a teasing grin. "Did you check under the bed? She had a habit storing her unused shoes in boxes under the bed."

Barry's face twisted to a horrified look. "Are you serious?" he blinked, running a hand through his hair in disbelief. "She had a whole closet of shoes at the front door."

"Go and check."

He did, and soon she heard his voice softly muttering from the room;

"Oh my god."

Caitlin couldn't help herself. She burst to an amused laughter.

 _What the hell, Caity?_ Frost muttered groggily deep within their shared subconscious, awoken by Caitlin's giggles. _You lost your marbles or what?_

Caitlin didn't have the chance to reply because Barry walked out of the bedroom, this time with a slight traumatised look on his face.

"We're taking a break," he decided, throwing himself onto the couch, back slumped against the soft surface, one arm thrown over his face.

Caitlin burst to another fit of laughter.

"Weakling," she teased, reaching out for the box containing Iris' clothes.

"Meanie," he retorted, removing his arm so that he could send a sulky glare at her.

Caitlin giggled.

Barry scowled at her.

 _The fuck is happening?_ Frost questioned, this time sounding confused.

 _We're helping him sorting out their stuffs before he sells this place._

Frost fell to silence after that, and Caitlin could feel her counterpart was looking through her memory, trying to catch up with today's events. Then, she felt the fond melancholy stemmed from Frost's side of the mind as the images of the glittery pink picture frame came up to her mind.

 _I miss her_ , Frost admitted softly.

 _Me too, Frost_ , Caitlin agreed, shooting a quick look at Barry while her hands continued to sort out Iris' clothing into categories. _All three of us miss her._

Frost fell back into the silence, and Caitlin let her mental counterpart wallowed in the grief she rarely admitted, as images after images of the good times Frost had with Iris throughout the two years of her existence since the particle accelerator explosion filled their shared subconscious. Frost rarely felt safe enough to show weaknesses, but it seemed like she had considered this moment as safe enough for her to be emotionally vulnerable. She let the soft sobs of Frost resounding in the depth of their subconscious and quirked a smile at Barry, who now had sat cross-legged in front of her as he helped her to sort out the clothes.

She couldn't help but think the horrified frown on his face was hilariously amusing.

"Do you think it's possible for me to rent out her dresses to teenage girls who couldn't afford to buy dress for their prom?" he randomly muttered as the pile of Iris' dresses kept growing. "Like, a small shop that girls on budget could rent a dress without having to spend lots of money? Some of these dresses weren't exactly Goodwill materials…"

"Maybe…," Caitlin hummed, eyeing the pile of dresses. "That was nice of you though," she commented, gesturing to the pile, "…to give out these expensive dresses to teens on budget."

"It's not like they are any use to me," Barry merely shrugged.

Half of the dresses in the pile Caitlin had recognized as the ones they bought together when they were out shopping, but the other half was high-end, expensive designer dresses that she was sure were gifts from Barry. Only his pay check could afford such dresses, and Barry was completely right when he said that the dresses sure didn't look like they would fit to be donated. The pile of Iris' more casual clothes would definitely be donated while the smallest pile was the clothes Caitlin considered to carry sentimental value and she would like to keep….

… such as the sweater that Caitlin and Lisa had painstakingly knitted for Iris and the scarf that Len had crocheted for the reporter. There was no way on Earth she was going to donate those. Those were definitely going into the box in her closet, along with the glittery pink frame—as a memory of their friendship.

Though, she stopped sorting when she noticed the blue sweater that Barry was folding, the bronze raven symbol at the front was too familiar to not be noticed.

 _No way…_ , Caitlin thought.

"Is that Ravenclaw sweater?" she asked, shock was evident in her voice.

"Hmm…?" Barry looked up from the sweater and cocked an eyebrow at her. "Oh?" his gaze fell back to the sweater; the lightest tint of pink suddenly rose to his neck. "Yeah, it is."

 _Iris never watched Harry Potter,_ Frost voiced out, now paying attention to the outside world. _Why does she have the official Ravenclaw sweater?_

"Iris never watched Harry Potter," Caitlin said, an inquiring statement to Barry as well as an affirmation to Frost's comment. "She said that it isn't her thing."

There was a beat of silence.

"She made me watch all seasons of Games of Thrones….," he finally said, coughing once and averting his eyes to not meet her gaze as if he was about to reveal something embarrassing. "It's only fair if she watched Harry Potter with me too…and I kinda have this thing for couple looks…," he cleared his throat, hints of pink spread to his cheeks. "So, yeah…I bought that for her."

Caitlin stared at him, a teasing smirk grew on her face.

"So…you're a Potterhead too?"

He quirked a smug smirk. "A proud Slytherin," he said, tipping his head in her direction. "You?"

"Forever Gryffindor," Caitlin grinned back, before adding; "Even Frost got sorted into Gryffindor on Pottermore."

 _I still think that the quiz was rigged,_ Frost grumbled. _I'm totally Slytherin material._

 _Oh, shush, Frosty._

"Oooh, ouch," his smirk grew to a genuine smile now, green eyes gleaming. "We are supposed to be mortal enemies."

Caitlin laughed. "We don't have to be."

He just smiled at her words, but didn't comment further. Instead, he put the clothes in front of him away and stole the blouse in Caitlin's hand. He gave her that charming smile again, the expression on his face was an impersonation of a puppy.

"Let's take a break," he suggested, giving her his best cute puppy face. "Let's order some food and watch a movie before we back to packing?"

Caitlin honestly couldn't resist that puppy face, so she simply grinned and nodded.

She was starving anyway, so she won't say no to a break and food.

"Pizza sounds good?" he asked as she was putting the unsorted clothes away, his phone was already in hand.

"That sounds lovely," she agreed and crawled towards his DVD collections, browsing through the selections before picking out a title. "You up for Fantastic Beasts?" she asked, hoping that he would say 'yes' since she hasn't gotten around to watch the movie yet.

"Oooh, I love that movie," he beamed, seemingly pleased with her selection.

And that's how half an hour later, she found herself resting her back against the armrest of the couch with her feet on his lap, two large boxes of pizza—since they both couldn't agree on the same topping—were on the coffee table as they engrossed themselves watching the movie. Caitlin ended up leaning against his shoulder halfway of the movie, while he seemed to take comfort in hugging his own knees, his head tilted to rest on Caitlin's head as they watched Newt Scamander wrecking chaos in New York city.

Even with the mess and clutter of boxes, this apartment still felt like home.

* * *

"Oh my god, we're finally done!"

Barry quirked an amused smile when Caitlin plopped onto the now clear floor, her arms were stretched out to the side, legs bent as she stared at the ceiling, her breathing was slightly ragged. It was already late at night when they finally managed to clear all the personal effects in the apartment, leaving only the furniture that Barry intended to sell to remain untouched, hence it made sense that they both were dead tired from the day of cleaning.

Barry honestly didn't know what to feel when he returned here.

He thought that by heeding to Killer Frost's advice to take a break from his night job would put him back in track, would help him stopped regretting his decision to murder Iris and made his life normal again. However, he couldn't stop the rise of nausea and twisting pain in his chest when he heard Joe's suggestion of donating Iris' belongings to charity. Jesse Wells' cooking suddenly tasted like sawdust in his mouth the moment Joe breached the topic, that Barry found it hard to pretend that he was enjoying the food. It was weird. Iris shouldn't matter anymore to him since he made the choice to kill her, but the discomfort welled up his chest at the notion of getting rid of traces Iris from his life.

He couldn't understand his own feelings. Iris had toyed with his feelings right from the beginning, so why was he so devastated every time he let himself thinking about her?

It felt so wrong—incredibly wrong—to be rid of her when he knew that she still has a strong grasp on his heart even from the realm of death.

The fact that he was ironically surrounded with warmth from Team Frost's friendly hugs made it even harder for him to forget Iris.

Everything warm reminded him of her.

Thus, he often sought solace in Frost's coldness, the only person that did not remind him of Iris' warmth. Oh, the irony. He had planned to use Team Frost to achieve his goal to heal the Flash, yet he grew dependence on the woman that was supposed to be his enemy. He found comfort in her freezing hugs, as it was a complete opposite of Iris—something that he was currently craving in his mission to get over his dead girlfriend. Frost and Caitlin were like drugs for him, his own personal morphine, as holding her dulled him from the odd pain he felt every time Iris reached out from the dead to remind him of his love to her.

Iris had played him. She toyed with his heart. He shouldn't feel any guilt for murdering her.

But he did. He did feel the guilt drowned him in regret every time he was reminded of her warmth and their good times together that he couldn't even stop the mournful sobs from escaping his throat.

He hated it so much when he lost control over his own emotions.

His throat clenched while his eyes stung with heat when he threw himself next to Caitlin, laying as close as possible to the vigilante, craving her coldness, wanting her freezing body temperature to dull the pain in his heart and reminded him that there was something else that could sooth him other than Iris' warmth.

He casted a quick glance to the length of her body, suddenly needing the coldness to engulf him.

Would it be creepy if he hugged her now?

Barry glanced to his side again, where Caitlin had her eyes closed and hands clasped on her stomach and decided that yes, he would seem creepy if he suddenly hugged her now, since they only knew each other for like four months and random hugs when they were lying on the floor of his apartment would definitely breached the friendship code.

Caitlin stretched from her lying spot. "I should get going," she said, turning her face to the side to smile at him.

"It's late. You can take the bedroom," Barry suggested before he could even think, and then had to wonder why the hell he wanted her to stay when he had arranged a night out with Killer Frost tonight.

Though, he still couldn't stop himself from adding;

"I'll sleep on the couch."

His mouth was really having a rebellion against his mind now.

The strategic side of his mind convinced him that this was a strategy to ensure that she didn't get in his way while he tried to get his groove back by terrorizing the city with her villainous doppelganger.

Another uncategorized part of his mind seemed to disagree though, suggesting that she needed to stay here because it was safer for her, since Killer Frost wouldn't even care if she hurt her own doppelganger.

Unlike the Flash, Killer Frost has no sentimental attachment to any of her doppelgangers.

"Barry, I'm not exactly a helpless damsel in distress, you know?" Caitlin deadpanned, brows rose to her hairline. "Len, Lisa and Cisco are out patrolling tonight, and I have Frost—so the possibility of danger is small even if I walked home," she explained, grinning at him. "I'm not depraving you of your own bed."

"The couch is comfortable," Barry retorted, turning around to lie on his side, eyes peeking up at her in the way that he hoped would be enough to melt the hero's heart. "And I appreciate the company."

The city was not safe for either Caitlin or Frost tonight—not when Killer Frost would be visiting.

He must have looked convincing because Caitlin's expression fell and twisted to that of a sympathy, her eyes softened, and it almost seemed automatic and natural of her—the kind-hearted Mama Bear Caitlin—when she reached to him and ran her cold fingers through his hair.

The way her fingers thread through his hair felt so familiar yet so new that his eyes fluttered close, his shoulders slacked in complete relaxation.

She was the exact opposite of Iris, yet she offered the exact same comfort.

Barry was so fond of her.

Thus, half an hour later, when she was in the shower in the very bedroom he had shared with Iris before, Barry found himself hesitating. His hands halted mid-air when he was about to pour the sleeping drugs inside her hot cocoa, guilt started clawing at his heart. It was a drug he had tried to concoct for the Flash, and wasn't strong enough by speedster's standard—since the Flash only got drowsy and half-lucid for half an hour before he was back up and running—but he knew that it was enough to knock Caitlin out for the rest of the night.

But, would he really drug her tonight?

Barry exhaled heavily, squared his shoulder and dumped the drug into the mug.

He knew that if his path crossed with Len, Lisa or Cisco tonight, they were bound to call her for backup and that was a major nope for him.

Killer Frost was itching for an ice battle—and Barry knew Caitlin and Frost were at a disadvantage against the ruthless ice villain. Central City Frost was no match to Killer Frost who had single-handedly massacre a whole military force in the war that the Flash started on Dark Earth.

The body counts and experience between the two version of Caitlin Snow were astronomically different.

"Thank you for letting me stay," her voice startled him that he almost jumped, but he managed to not do so as he curled his fingers around the mugs, plastered a smile on his face and turned around to face her.

"Not a problem," he grinned, offering the tampered cocoa to her. "I appreciate the company," he said, resisting the urge to wince when the guilt clawed again in his chest as she trustingly sipped on the cocoa.

"You just said that because you don't want me out there fighting criminals," Caitlin huffed, smiling behind her mug.

"You need your sleep. Plus, it's your day off," Barry retorted, shifting into his no-nonsense-doctor tone. "And Len would adore me for life if I stop you from stealing his comeback glory."

There was a beat of comfortable silence.

"Is he really going to be okay?" Caitlin murmured, her eyes drooping while her voice slurred in a huge yawn. "He has fully recovered, but is it okay for him to go on being a hero right after getting the 'okay' from you?"

"He will be okay," Barry smiled, amused that Caitlin has emptied her mug in seconds. "You, on the other hand, seemed like you're about to pass out."

Caitlin gave her a shy sleepy smile. "I don't know, Barry…," she murmured, her drooping eyes flashed white and Barry knew that Frost was the one who was talking to him now, "…I just feel safe around you." she yawned, half of her hair were turning white while the rest remained red as she turned around to face him. "And sleepy…I'm definitely sleepy…Oh my god, when was the last time I actually sleep?"

Barry felt his breath hitched when her transformation stopped halfway. He was staring at both Frost and Caitlin—red hair and brown eyes on the right side while platinum hair and white eyes on the left side, and they were looking at him— _both of them_ —as they struggled to remain properly standing.

Barry placed his own mug onto the counter, the cocoa tasted like guilt on his tongue when he tried to drink it as he tentatively threw his arm around her shoulder and led her back to the bedroom. He didn't know why it felt so wrong to drug Caitlin to sleep. Was it because he was her nemesis? Hell, it shouldn't be. Even if he wasn't her nemesis, his action was justified. Her body needed the sleep—since the switch between Frost and Caitlin made their body to be constantly used and awake—and he also was genuinely trying to protect her from a confrontation against her evil doppelganger.

Though, he couldn't stop the odd discomfort of guilt from growing within his chest and ensnared his heart.

Caitlin promptly threw herself onto the bed the moment Barry helped her to sit on the mattress. Barry could see that the drug was working nicely on her as she yawned again and climbed under the duvet, burrowing herself until only her dual-coloured eyes and the top of her head were visible. She gave him another sleepy smile and patted his thigh.

"Night, Barry~" Caitlin murmured, before both of her eyes flashed white and her smile switched to a teasing sultry smirk as Frost added;

"Feel free to climb in and cuddle if you're lonely on the couch, doc."

Barry laughed, amused at the blush that dusted Caitlin cheeks when the right eye switched to warm brown again.

"Let me take you out for a dinner first and then we can discuss about that," he said, shifting his thigh to avoid the swat from the woman's cold hand. "Good night, Cait," he murmured softly, as those bi-colour eyes fluttered shut. "And sweet dreams, Frost."

Barry sat there in utter silence then, with only Caitlin's soft breathing resounding in the room as he stared down at his own knees, twisting and pulling on his fingers nervously.

It felt so wrong to drug Caitlin like this. She had done nothing to hurt him.

She had done nothing to hurt him.

"My oh my, Barr…," a sweet voice cooed _—_ a strangely familiar yet impossible voice that greeted him from the door _—_ and Barry stiffened, eyes still on his knees as he dared not to lift his head up, shock and disbelief washed down his spine. "I can't believe that you actually drugged her."

 _No way. There is no way…. No way this is possible—_

Barry started shaking.

"You're not going to look at me, Barr?" she cooed again, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, wanting to get rid of the image of a sulky pout that he once considered irresistibly adorable. "I'm wounded."

Then, cold fingers suddenly grasped his chin, tilting his face up to stare into her eyes.

"Don't you miss me, Barr?"

The moment he met the gaze of those dark eyes, heat stung at his own, a drop of hot tears trickled down his cheek as he croaked out;

" _Iris._ "

She still looked the same, felt the same. The same dark brown eyes. Her skin was the same colour of roasted chestnut and still so soft like the finest silk—just like the last time he remembered touching her. Her hair carried the same hint of her favourite strawberry shampoo, wavy loose ebony curls that fell over her face and brushed over his neck, the familiar ticklish sensation made his heart twisted in pain. Her hands then moved to cup his cheeks, as she climbed up his lap—her coldness felt oddly familiar, but the touches were foreign, so unlike what he remembered.

She was still Iris, though.

"Iris," he whimpered, looking straight into her dark brown eyes as she nodded and bent down to nuzzle her freezing nose to the underside of his jaw. "Iris," he sighed, eyes squeezed shut when she trailed a kiss down his throat. " _Iris_."

The last one was close to a whine.

She giggled, her breath felt freezing cold against his skin—far colder than Frost herself—though Barry's throat still tightened at the familiar softness of her kisses. He almost let out a pathetic whimper and was so close to wrap his arms around her smaller body, wanting to cling to her before the pain engulfed his heart—reminding him of her harsh words, her confession of never loving him and that she was toying with his heart for the sake of justice ever since the beginning…

The anger overwhelmed his pain and he promptly pushed her away.

That was when he noticed the slight flash of white in Iris' eyes.

Of. Fucking. Course.

Everyone on Dark Earth has horribly wicked sense of humour.

"Oh, for fuck's sake…," he groaned, sending a light kick to her knees as 'Iris' doubled over the floor in a barrage of laughter. "It's not funny, you little bitch."

"What's wrong, Barr?" her lips curled to a smirk as she crawled towards him, resting her chin on his lap, her fingers trailed cold path up his thigh. "Don't you miss me, _baby_?"

"If you want to fuck a Barry Allen, ask the Flash, _Frosty_ ," Barry grumbled, glaring his nastiest death glare at the woman. "Or Savitar," he added as if as an afterthought. "They are always up for sex."

She pouted, looking so much like Iris in once upon Barry's memory, but in the same time, she looked completely different too—from the predatory glint in her eyes, to the malicious hint in her grin and the deadly cold of her skin, it should be obvious from the start that she was not Iris. Her gaze darted briefly to the slumbering Caitlin, her grin grew wider when she fished out a small device from her pocket and pointed the device to her face.

A bright flash of light later, a completely different woman stood in front of him.

"Not. Funny." Barry huffed, relaxing now that it wasn't Iris face that was looking at him. "It's really not funny."

"Oh, baby," Killer Frost cooed, pressing her cold palms over his cheeks. "Did joining Team Frost make you lose your funny bone?"

Barry rolled his eyes and tried to pry her hands away.

"Barry, Ripper, come on," she drawled, ignoring his attempts and cup his neck instead. "You used to be so sporting to my jokes."

"Your joke crossed the line, _Killer Frost,_ " he spat venemously.

"Hey, in my defence, this is your dear doppelganger's idea," Killer Frost retorted, moving one hand to cup his jaw so that he would look at her as she nudged his legs open and situated herself between his legs. Her white eyes darted towards Caitlin again, blue-tinted lips quirked to a mocking smirk. "We can't have the good name of Central City's hero to be sullied with my charms."

Barry tensed up, feeling the slight dread grew in his heart at her implied meaning. Saying that this was the Flash's idea was just a nicer way to phrase that it was an actual order that Killer Frost was obliged to follow. Barry knew that there was no way for him to stop her from wearing Iris' face whenever she joined him terrorizing the city.

"In another word, all of you want to torture me," he chose to deadpan instead, acid leaked from each syllable.

"Oh, Ripper, baby, that would only be me," Killer Frost grinned, pressing her cold palms to his chest, making him shudder at the unexpected cold. "Your pain excites me," she cooed, her thumb stroking over his thumping heart, "…and I feel so good seeing you being tormented with guilt and broken love."

Barry's jaw hardened as the pain twisted in his chest again.

"You're adorably arousing when you're in pain…," she hummed, before adding, as if an afterthought, "…and the Flash is more interested in ruining Iris' name rather than torturing you, even when she is already dead."

Barry groaned, completely annoyed. "Fuck off."

She grinned back at him, retreating just slightly so that she could flash the light to her face and transformed to Iris West once again before she tossed his costume to him.

"Change or I'll strip you. We're going to have a date," she ordered, nodding to his costume and winked at him. "I need to make sure that Central City's favourite serial killer has a powerful comeback murder."

Barry remained sitting at the edge of the bed, and didn't make any move to change.

Killer Frost rolled her eyes and stalked towards him, only to scandalously situated herself on his lap, straddling him.

"Trust me that I'd enjoy stripping you, Ripper," she purred when he remained unmoving, her cold hands played with the hem of his shirt. "You have the similar sexy body as your doppelgangers, and you wouldn't have the powers to phase out of my ice like them, so, hurry and change, _Scarlet Ripper,_ before things gone south," she urged, reaching out one hand to his collar—the first few buttons of his shirt popped undone to her strength—while her other hand has definitely gone _south_.

Barry stared at her, struggling to look straight into the face that she was wearing, as he muttered;

"You're a sadist."

"And that's why you love me."

* * *

 **A/N: Uh-uh. Killer Frost visited while wearing Iris' face. Team Frost is up for a shock.**

 **I honestly think that this version of Barry Allen would fit in Slytherin easily, and that was not because he was evil but because he was cunning and ambitious. And Frost as a Gryffindor is easy to decide because she and Caitlin would both jumped in front of danger to protect their friends.**

 **Hope you enjoy this new update. Next update will be a confrontation with the rest of team Frost and I'm so excited to write it!**

 **And thank you to all of my readers that had reviewed my story. I do read your review and your beautiful words made me write faster. Thank you so much!**


	9. Chaos

**A/N: Un-betaed. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

Irony was Killer Frost's favourite thing.

She enjoyed the surprise that fate and irony brought to her. Back on her original Earth, not even three years back, she was changed by the particle accelerator explosion that sacrificed so many lives, including the love of her life. Ronnie's death was the trigger for her to embrace her new identity and indulge in her deepest, darkest desire. She terrorized the city without mercy, desiring vengeance for Ronnie's death because these people had encouraged Starlabs to switch on the accelerator under the name of science.

She lost Ronnie because of their selfish desire.

Thus, she embraced the identity of Killer Frost, letting Caitlin Snow slept in grief deep within her mind, never to be woken again. She killed and destroyed, becoming even more violent for each day that passed until the pain of her lost changed to pure bloodlust and the sadistic needs to inflict pain. Nobody could stop her. Sure, sometimes CCPD was desperate enough to request Green Arrow's help to subdue her, but the vigilante has his own city to worry about.

Killer Frost was an unstoppable force of menace.

The only cloud of rain in her parade was none other Detective Barry Allen.

Adorable stammering cutie that detective was, but underneath that cute insecurity was a persistent man of law that would stop at nothing before he could get his hands on Killer Frost and put her away for good.

She almost regretted it when she put an end to her favourite persistent detective.

But he was getting too close to capture her—despite the fact that he was a mere powerless human, Barry Allen was a force to be reckoned with. He was impossibly smart, the plan and strategy he devised had her cornered to a wall, just like a trapped mouse.

She was super annoyed when he had his gun pressed right underneath her jaw, Black Canary stalking in the darkness for emergency backup while Arrow's little gang was armed and ready to attack as they blocked her escape routes while waiting for the police to arrive. To top it off, Green Arrow has an arrow aimed to her head from the shadows of the roof as sweet Detective Allen tried to put that power-dampening cuff on her.

She got away with ringing ears, a bullet in her gut and an arrow through her shoulder that night.

Detective Barry Allen, on the other hand…. well, she heard that he had woken up from the coma, though the news mentioned that he is retiring early from his career in CCPD—the desperate blast of ice she aimed to his chest had weakened his heart to the point that being a detective was impossible for him. The last news she heard about him was that he moved to Star City under the encouragement of his pregnant wife, and was currently working with Mayor Queen and SCPD as a crime scene consultant.

Killer Frost kinda missed him though.

Yeah, she almost killed him, but he was her favourite detective, and none of the detectives that replaced him was close enough to his persistence and brilliance.

Killer Frost was bored.

Bored enough that she actually paid him a visit in Star City—a visit that almost stopped his heart due to the shock—and she didn't even say anything to ask if he was ever going to return to Central to be her nemesis again. She knew that he couldn't, even though she knew that he wanted to—because the way he was gripping on her wrists showed her that he was still determined to stop her.

But they both knew that he couldn't.

She had broken his body.

Thus, she left without another word as his wife rushed out to aid him when he collapsed in yet another heart attack—a strange emptiness dug a hole in her chest.

What's a superhero without a villain? _Useless._

What's a supervillain without a hero? _Successful **AND** bored._

Killer Frost was bored to death.

Then fate brought her to the Flash and things changed.

She could never forget the amused laughter he barked out when the first thing she said to him once he removed the cowl was that she almost killed his doppelganger.

And then he had the balls to ask why she didn't kill his doppelganger for real.

When Barry Allen turned to the dark side, he really went all out.

Despite her initial reluctance (considering that he was about to wage a war against the superhero community on his Earth), she was ecstatic when the Flash personally came to recruit her into his army. She felt honoured even, to be a part of the rise of his villainous reign. His vendetta was so deep that even by one look into those hateful green eyes she knew that no heroes would survive his hatred. He was dead set to vanquish heroes and justice on his Earth once and for all.

That was cute and all, but Killer Frost refused to be thrown into ultimate boredom again.

But then, she met Savitar, who has interesting relationship with the Flash, and then met the doppelganger of her Ronnie in the form of Deathstorm—and she knew that things wouldn't go boring at all, even if she helped him win the war. No, there will be no boredom with this lot of people.

Thus, she had said yes to both Flash's offer and Deathstorm's proposal and moved to Dark Earth.

Fast-forward to a couple of months after their victory, the Flash brought a powerless Barry Allen into their headquarters, and introduced the man as Dr. Barry Allen, fondly known as Ripper on Dark Earth—a doctor, a teacher and a serial killer, all three in one—who would be helping Killer Frost in finding ways to control the Flash's violent energy and healed the radiation that was eating the speedster.

She grown fondness to the man. Ripper reminded her so much of her favourite detective. Smart and adorable, powerless human yet dangerous in their own ways, and the glint of fierce determination in those green eyes whenever she witnessed them being caught in their respective passion—be it chasing after her or murdering unsuspecting victims—they both were so similar yet so different. The fate that crossed their paths together was amusingly hilarious, especially when he told her that back on his Earth, he was the villain while her doppelganger was the hero.

What an irony.

And now that they were sort of best friends, she was concerned when he seemed to lose himself after he committed that unplanned murder on his own girlfriend.

It was a shame though. He was all fine and dandy while committing the deed but once he returned from dumping the body and realised what he just did, he freaked out.

She wasn't expecting him to ever commit a crime of passion. He simply wasn't the type for unplanned murder. Thus, when he stumbled out of the breach right into her lab with bloodstained clothes, all the while freaking out and mumbling over and over again about how he literally just left the body of his girlfriend at CCPD after raping her corpse and turning her to his latest victim—Killer Frost knew that she should monitor him, just in case he needed a damage control.

Months later, when she saw that he was still clinging to the memories of Iris West even after she advised him to take a break from his night job, she finally decided to interfere….in her own wicked ways.

"I can't focus," he grumbled as they made their exit after leaving the poor sods that she just changed to an artful ice statue in the middle of Central Square. "Can you change back, _please_?"

"Come on, Ripper, isn't this fun?" she halted and turned around to face him, only to frown at what she saw.

He had his face tilted up to stare at the sky, his throat bobbed while his eyes squeezed painfully tight. Killer Frost held back a sigh, wondering why every Barry Allen she knew seemed to be so hung up over Iris West even after they killed that woman. Even the Flash was still hung up over his Iris—though, thank fuck that the speedster channelled his regret towards aggression and hate, so the only depressed Barry Allen she had to handle was Ripper. She walked up to him and held his hands, feeling the tremble of those hands and the flinch of his shoulders when he opened his eyes and saw the face that she was wearing.

It was tough, but he needed to learn to look into Iris' face and not feel like he wanted to slit his own throat.

She knew that the reporter was bad news ever since the beginning. What was the chance that she suddenly switched her interest in writing article about the Scarlet Ripper to writing about —two completely different public figures in two different section of the newspaper—if she didn't suspect both of them to be the same person? Knowing the determination of the woman, Killer Frost knew that the chance was slim to none. Iris West must had seen something when she almost caught him that Christmas night, and made the connection between the two.

Too bad that Ripper has the same stubbornness of the rest of his doppelgangers and didn't take her warnings seriously.

"Ripper," she called, lacing her cold hands with his gloved ones together. "This is just a face."

"It's not _just_ a face," he murmured, still avoiding her gaze. "It's _Iris'_."

"Babe," she sighed, resisting the urge to ice him as she added, "…you don't want the heroic Frost getting the flame just because she shared the same face with me, right?"

He was silent for a moment, lips pursed in a contemplative line.

"I can't do this," he finally whimpered, stepping back from her but she rooted him to the ground, not letting his hands go. "Killer, please," he was positively begging now, the look on his face would've melted the coldest of heart.

Thank fuck that Killer Frost didn't really have a heart.

"Ripper, look at me," she growled, gripping his hand tight in one hand while the other reached up to cup his jaw, forcing him to look straight into her eyes. "Stare into these eyes, and remember the way she looked at you when she confronted you," she hissed, keeping him in place when he wanted to back away, sensing the beginning of the panic from his escalated breathing.

"Killer Frost, _please_ …"

She ignored his pleas.

"Look into these eyes and remember the triumphal hate in hers you saw that night," she kept on talking, tightening her hold on his hand when he squeezed his eyes shut. "Look at this face, and tell me that you're not hurt and angry when she told you that she never loved you," she pushed on, patting his cheek encouragingly when his eyes fluttered open again. "Tell me that when you came into my lab four months ago, looking like a complete mess, all the things you told me were lies."

He shook his head and tried to back away, but she kept him in place, wanting to revert him back to his original self.

"Barry," she hissed, lowering her voice so that only he could hear her, her thumb rubbed gentle circles over his trembling hands. "Tell me that you're okay when she toyed with your heart. Tell me that you're alright when she deliberately used your emotions to lower your guard. Tell me that you're fine when she told you that her sole purpose of dating you was so that she could confirm her suspicion of you being the Scarlet Ripper," she exhaled, seeing the mix of pain and anger in his eyes, knowing that she was close to her goals. "If you can tell me those, I will change back to my own face right this second."

His throat bobbed again, and Killer Frost saw the tears that disappeared underneath the edge of his mask, and she knew that he was still hurting, still feeling the pain of broken first love but the hard set of his jaw and the forced strain on his neck told her that his anger to Iris West's betrayal was there to.

She needed the anger to overwhelm the pain, she needed him to embrace the reality.

"I can't do that," he finally croaked out, his hands no longer trembled in her grip as she felt the anger radiated from him. "I can't say that I'm fine when I'm not…," his voice grew softer, but she could hear the choke he tried to hide. "She toyed me, Killer," he sighed, almost in resignation before he broke to a broken laugh. "She played me right from the beginning!"

"So why are you still so in love with her?" she questioned, looping her arms around his neck, her fingers tangled through his stiff dyed hair as she leant on tip-toe, brushing their noses together, as if she was about to kiss him. "Look at me, Ripper, look at this face and remember her betrayal," she murmured to him, trying her best to imitate Iris West's speech—not that she would ever succeed, but she deserved points for effort. "What have you ever done to her to deserve the pain? What have you ever done to hurt her or her family?"

He snorted a choked laugh. "I'm a serial killer, remember?"

"But you have never kill anyone that she knew," she countered, remembering the debate that she often had with him regarding his victim selection method. "Most of your victims have no one to grieve over them."

She couldn't understand why the hell he chose victims that have no family to grieve them. His list of victims ranged from people who are alone in this world, or whose family hated them to guts, or their family focused more on the inheritance rather than the victims themselves.

Where was the satisfaction of watching the torment the living kin had to go through after the death if he selected those who were literally alone in this world?

It was almost poetic. If these people had died in a normal way, nobody would even care or remember them. They were only remembered because of the way they were murdered.

In short, without Scarlet Ripper, their deaths would be meaningless.

"I'm focusing on the visual beauty, you heathen," he automatically retorted, his tone was sharp and firm, almost sounding defensive. "The beauty of their shades of red, their story that I tried to convey…how would people appreciate my work if they are so busy crying and grieving?"

Killer Frost blinked at the familiar defensive tone. He used that tone whenever they debated on the topic, when he persistently argued and defended on his selection method against her arguments. She cracked a smile, loving the change. This was more of her calm and collected best friend rather than the guilt-ridden mess before.

"You last work is less than satisfactory, Rip," she teased, trying to prompt more of his old self out. "There was a droplet of blood on Woodward's shirt, you use way too much props, there isn't even that much shades of red to look at and seriously…a tea party for your victim's victims?"

He then suddenly bumped their noses together and rested his forehead against hers. There was a gentle hum resonating from his throat, a contented sound that almost sounded grateful when he nuzzled his nose to her cheek. Pleased with the change in behaviour, she let her hands wandered down his neck to the dark fabric of his shirt, pressing against his chest, marvelling at his heartbeats that were gradually growing calmer.

"Such a tough critic," he chuckled, and Killer Frost couldn't help but smiled in satisfaction when his eyes reopened, and the fierce glint that reminded her of her favourite detective was present in his gaze. "You can't cut me some slacks considering that I was recovering from a concussion that time?"

"Not a chance."

He laughed. "Tough."

She sought his eyes, wanting to see if Iris West's gaze still have an effect on him. He flinched once their eyes met, and she saw a flicker of guilt in those green eyes, but it didn't stay long because he inhaled a deep breath and when he looked at her again, his lips have curled to the familiar smirk that she adored so much.

He still needed time, but that was a progress.

"What's the point of a critic if I don't give you brutal honest critique?" she smirked back at him, leaning closer to kiss his cheeks. "You're losing your charms, baby."

"As if your ice statue is any better."

"Excuse you. _That_ was fantastic."

"Come on," he scoffed. "You just freeze them where they were standing. There is no arrangement or artistic value in there."

"Alright, Picasso," she retreated, but not before giving him a slight taste of her ice on his upper arm. "Let's remember that not everyone paid attention in art class back in school."

He dusted the freckles of ice off his sleeves with an annoyed scowl on his face, but his voice was rich and smooth as the scowl faded and the chuckle tore off his throat. However, he remained silent afterwards, not talking or making snarky comment as he randomly took out the ice dagger she had made for his last birthday, his gaze seemed far-fetched as if his mind was not even there. Killer Frost frowned when he suddenly let out a mocking scoff, her brows furrowed when he ran his thumb over the handle of the dagger. Her frown grew even more confused when he started twirling the blade in his fingers—a gesture she noticed that he did whenever he remembered something from his childhood—the downturn of his lips slowly curled up to a fond melancholic smile.

"I was homeschooled, you know?"

There was a beat of silence.

"Of course," Killer Frost groaned and rolled her eyes. "Rich boys from protective family like you deserves only the best of private tutors unlike the rest of us."

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, shaking his head. "My dad said that I should not mingle with other kids because they were just going to use my smart and wealth for their own benefit," he said, his smile flattened. "The only times I got to go outside and socialize was during the charity events they brought me. I never actually had friends until I met the Flash and the rest of you."

She stared at him from what it seemed like a long minute before she could come up with a comment;

"Your dad is a controlling bastard."

He simply gave her a sly smile for that comment, and for that split second, he looked so much like his far deadlier doppelgangers.

"Yeah, he was," he murmured, the sly smile broadened to a smirk. "It's nice that he is gone."

Killer Frost got the chills.

He retreated into his silence as they climbed and sneaked around the darkness of the city, trying to get him into the evil villain mood back, all the while wreaking havoc and chaos throughout their path—leaving blood, ice and destroyed properties in their wake.

Though, Killer Frost was the one who did most of the hard job, considering that Barry was the ironically peaceful type of menace that preferred carefully planned dread rather than a blatant chaos.

It still annoyed the ice villain to hell when the serial killer refused to kidnap his future victims, even if he found them under the cover of the night. Oh no, the bastard preferred the daytime instead. Even if he found suitable victims while he was out at night, he would only approach them later when the sun was up—usually with coffees, cupcakes and warm smile as he lured them into his deadly arms with his sweet words and stunning charms.

He lured them to his death trap with gentle kindness and sweet charms.

On second thought, that was even more creepier.

"Tonight is my lucky night," he murmured to her, eyes gleaming in the dark as his gaze locked on the dishevelled drunk young woman that would soon be his latest prey. "She's perfect."

"And you're not kidnapping her."

"Nope," he grinned, looking like an excited child on Christmas morning. "I think she would appreciate a cup of soothing hot coffee tomorrow."

Killer Frost wasn't impressed at all.

"She's drunk, Ripper," she commented, her voice flat and not amused. "She is drunk as fuck. You can easily kidnap her now and save the time waiting for the coffee."

And typical of Barry Allen behaviour, he had the balls to give her an offended chiding look.

"You clearly have never taken a girl out on a date," he chided, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "What kind of a man would I be if I bring her home without taking her out for dinner or coffee first? I was raised with proper manners, Frosty."

"This manner of yours is increasing your risk of getting caught."

"Ah, what is life without a healthy dose of adrenaline at the prospect of getting caught?"

Killer Frost couldn't decide whether this blatant recklessness was he punishing her for interfering with his grieving over Iris West; or, he has actually reverted to his roots that craved adrenaline and enjoyed mocking the authority by luring his victims right under their collective noses.

She finally settled with the default response she would give to all versions of Barry Allen whenever they did something that she didn't want to bother to understand;

"You're a fucking weirdo."

His expression twisted to an insulted look, though, before he could respond, they heard the blare of security alarm, followed by the whirring of the cold gun blasting not far from their location. Almost like an instant reflex, he wrapped his arm across her chest, pulling her into the cover of the darkness, his heart drummed calmly against her back as they assessed the situation. The heroes were just around the corner, fighting against a metahuman that just broke into a jewellery store. It looked like that they were having a blast with the fight, cold and gold guns blasting freezing ice and acidic gold towards the wild massive tendrils of the enraged plant-woman.

Killer Frost felt the bloodlust boiled inside her, fuelling her with anticipation and excitement for a battle. She struggled free from his grasp, already tasting the sweet tinge of cruel satisfaction on her tongue at the idea of wearing Iris West's face while attacking the heroes. She was about to ambush the heroes when he grasped her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

"What the fuck, Ripper?" she scowled at him, honestly not appreciating the interruption, but was taken aback when she saw the solemn look in his eyes.

"What is the first thing the Flash dictates in his multiverse-travelling rules?" he questioned, and she couldn't help but grimace at those words.

If he was using the words of his doppelganger, she knew that he was trying to make her do something that she would probably did not like. She wouldn't like it, but she would have to do it because nobody wanted the Flash's vibrating hand to pierce through their chest.

The speedster wasn't a good sport to people who neglected his rules.

"If anyone from the Earth we visited is not our enemy, we are not to cause any grief to them...," she recited the rule reluctantly, flinching when she had a slight inkling of where he was going, "…and should they request something for the sake of their benefits, we will respect the request."

"Am I your enemy, Killer Frost?"

"No."

"Would you cause me any trouble?"

She paused, before spitting out a simple retort;

"Maybe."

He sighed and quirked an exasperated smile, though his tone remained gentle and hopeful as he asked again;

"Would you respect my request?"

She stared at him. "Fuck you," she glowered, her face scrunched up to a scowl. "Fuck you to the deepest pit of hell."

Of course, she would respect his request. She has no choice.

He smiled, a genuine triumphal smile as if he knew that she had no choice but oblige to whatever he was about to request—which was the truth in this situation. God damn it, he was one of the few doppelgangers that the Flash has deep fondness of. If she didn't oblige, chances for her to be on the speedster's bad side was terribly high.

Letting Ripper join Team Frost might have been a completely terrible idea. She knew that he would grow an attachment to the team of heroes—lonely fuck he was; of course he would cling to his new friends.

Killer Frost held back a groan. "Spit it out, Ripper."

"Will you please not hurt them too much?" he beamed, smiling brightly. "I'm very fond of them."

There was a beat of silence.

"You're such a killjoy, do you know that?"

"And that's why you love me."

* * *

She wanted to die.

The content of her stomach was revolting inside her, her head was hurting so bad like there was an untalented marching band pounding their merry way in her brain and the sunlight was the most horrible thing that she saw the moment she woke up.

The fact that she was curled up against the cold dirty surface of the street wasn't even at the centre of her mind.

She could feel the judgemental stares directed towards her direction, and she desperately wished that she could sneer back. If they found her as such an eyesore, they should have called the police and let them lock her up until she was sober, and the alcohol was out of her system. She has had enough of judgemental stares at school.

She then squeezed her eyes shut at the flashes of images that tormented her mind.

 _I'm sorry._

The guilt that rose up her chest made her retched, dispelling all the contents of her stomach onto the street.

Limp body. Broken collapsed ceiling fan. Pale drained body. Blood all over the bathroom's tiles.

The ambulance. The cold waiting rooms. The ICU. The emotionless doctor.

 _They are dying. Prepare for the worst._

It used to be all fun and game. She teased. She mocked. She orchestrated a whole year of humiliation and embarrassment for her stepsiblings. They were children of peasants. Their mother was a poor whore that her father picked up, regardless of what the old man had told her. As if she was going to buy that story. There was no way someone so privileged and powerful like her father would fall in love with the poor baker from the city's most shady and poverty-stricken streets.

Except, he did.

Her father's first love was indeed that poor baker.

Her mother? The woman only used her father as a stepping stone for her success. Their arranged marriage was a political union. And she—the child born from a night of trickery and intoxication—was the bargaining chip to stop the divorce that would ruin the woman's climb to the top.

That's why her father loved Rod and Emmy so much. They were the children of the woman he loved, despite being from the seeds of another man.

She hated her stepsiblings so much.

However, she didn't expect for things to go too far. She just wanted them to suffer. To feel being unwanted. To feel what she felt when her own mother abandoned her and when her father kept her at an arm's distance. Never did she meant to drive them to death.

Nevertheless, she did. And she regretted every second of it, knowing full well that her innocent stepsiblings were currently hanging by a thin line of thread between life and death.

People like her didn't deserve to live. She knew that, and she really wanted to die. The moment her head was clear enough for her to drive on her own, she would head to the outskirts of the city and threw herself over the most secluded cliff, falling into the ocean. That way, there was no corpse for them to glare at; and even if her dad and Viola forgave her for pushing her stepsiblings to suicide, the old couple wouldn't have to bury another child. That was such a perfect plan. She could receive her punishment without the thoughts of being at the receiving end of hate or sympathy.

Yeah, she should do that.

But first, she needed to get rid of this annoying man.

"Fuck off," she grumbled, shoving his hands away as he tried to help her up from her spot on the streets.

"I can't do that, young lady," he replied, and she scowled at the bright smile on his face. "You look like you're about to fall face first into your own puke."

She winced at the pungent puddle by her knees but sent her best glare to the man regardless.

"If you touch me, I'll scream."

He sighed, lips quirked to an exasperated smile and raised his hands up in front of his chest, as if showing that he meant no harm, nor he has any intention in touching her. She squinted to the brighter street, scowling at the thought no one seemed to care that there was a man crouching over an obviously hungover girl. This was a totally stranger-danger situation. Didn't this people cared that this man might have been a serial rapist or anything similar and she was about to be taken away?

She scowled at the ignorant citizens walking down the street.

No, they didn't care.

She might as well be kidnapped by the Scarlet Ripper himself and these people won't even give a fuck.

Perhaps that has something to do with his perfectly ironed and expensive-looking clothes, while she looked like a hooker. A respectable-looking man and a girl who looked like a slut. Go figure who they were going to side with if she screamed right now.

"I'm just trying to help," he smiled that bright smile again, and she resisted the urge to puke on his pristine shirt.

"I don't need your help," she grumbled, blinking the remaining of her grogginess away as she intended to intimidate the man with her glare, only to instantly look away from his eyes.

There was something mesmerizing with those deep blue eyes.

It was like looking into the deep sea—the blue was beautiful, but she knew that she could get lost forever into the dark depth of the blue.

"You look like you could use a cup of warm tea, and a good sleep."

"Fuck off."

He exhaled heavily, and she peeked at him through her messy bangs. He didn't show any signs of budging away, even when he ran his fingers through his styled golden tresses, his head hung low as he exhaled yet another heavy breath. When he looked up to stare at her again, his eyes seemed softer behind the frameless glasses, and his smile was gentle—almost fatherly—despite the youth of his face.

His smile caused her to remember her own father—the old man's anguish when they discovered her step-siblings' double suicide, and suddenly, suddenly, she had this urge to crawl to this man and beg to be comforted—to be assured that Emmy and Rod were going to survive their attempts.

"At least let me call a cab to take you home?" he offered, and she openly snorted.

Of course, he would be the typical responsible adult type.

Her father hated her now. But, perhaps she could gain some comfort from this stranger.

She reached a hand to twist on his perfectly buttoned collar, smirking at the marks her dirty hands left on the pristine shirt as she tugged on the fabric, his dark necktie loosened a bit at her force.

"No," she mumbled out, still disoriented, but from the way his expression faltered, she knew that she got the message across. "I don't have a home."

"Oh," he mouthed, and she could've laughed at the troubled look on his face. "Do you have anywhere else to go? A friend that you trust, maybe?"

She laughed at his face, impressed that he didn't even flinch, not even to the stench of alcohol and puke from her breath.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "I'll call a cab and you can give the address and get home safely."

She cocked an amused brow.

What a responsible gentleman. Lesser men would've taken the advantage of her intoxicated state to take her somewhere private and have his way with her, but here he was, practically trying to ensure an intoxicated stranger was returned home safe and sound. Sobering up a bit, she allowed her gaze to linger a bit longer on his face. He was young, probably late twenties or early thirties, the way his deep blue eyes stared intently her from behind those frameless glasses gave the impression of an aged professor instead.

It took her a few blinks to notice that something was hilariously odd about his eyes.

After all, not many people would bother to wear cosmetic contact lens and then add glasses into the mix.

Though, she was in no mood to ask. He could've been a genuine kind man, or a sick twisted bastard who preyed on helpless young girl like her, but to be honest, she didn't give a damn. She was planning to commit suicide anyway, so if he was indeed intending to harm her, he would just made her job easier.

"I have no one," she mumbled, completely deciding to screw everything as she clutched on his collar, dragging her sore, exhausted body across the dirty street to lean against his chest. "Everyone hates me. I hurt them all."

God, was she so desperate that even this young stranger felt so much like how she remembered her father was?

His warmth felt so similar to the ones she remembered to receive from her father ten years ago.

"Okay…," he said, shifting till she was snugly cradled against his chest. "Do you trust me? I can drive you to the nearest hotel and check in a room for you so that you can rest until you're sober—"

His words died down as she buried her face into his chest. She was biting her lower lips in a futile attempt to hide her sob, her body racked in mournful regret while her dirty fingers clawed on his pristine shirt; all the while she did this, his embrace on her body got tentatively tighter.

She clutched on his arms, pulling him even closer as she cried to his chest.

"You have a story, don't you?"

She nodded gingerly upon hearing his quiet words.

She briefly felt a kiss over the top of her head, and her instant reaction to that gesture was to clutch his arms closer, clinging to him for dear life. It felt nice to receive kindness like this. No one has been genuinely kind to her ever since her mother died—not her father, not her supposed friends nor her own boyfriend—

—except that someone did try to be kind to her. Viola had tried, attempting to reach out to her like the amazing mother she was. Emmy was trying too, attempting to reach out for her cold, stone heart…

And she returned the warm attempts with scorns and torments.

"I don't deserve to live," she confessed to his chest, no longer resisting when he pulled her up.

"Oh?" He sounded curious, yet tentatively caring—as if he has no idea whether to push on the story or not—though his strong hold around her waist seemed to tighten as her strength failed her. "And why is that?"

"I killed my siblings," she murmured, her eyes squeezed shut.

Rod and Emmy were still struggling against the inevitable in the ICU, but considering that they were so close to death, she might as well own up to that crime now.

"That's rough," he commented, nudging her away as they reached his car

He let her clutch on his hand until she has climbed into the passenger seat—not one person seemed to bother at the sight of such unlikely pair getting into a car together. The passer-by simply walked past them, not even sparing a glance to the dirty girl and the fine gentleman. He patted her head kindly when she reluctantly let go of his hand, a gesture that made her wonder if the universe sent this kind angel as a consolation before she killed herself.

"If you want to talk about it, I have time to spare."

His offer for a listening ear felt like a godsend—a chance for her to confess her crime and express her remorse before she faced her self-inflicted punishment.

Thus, he gave this kind angel her most thankful smile.

"That would be very nice of you," she murmured gratefully, feeling a bit at ease as she relaxed against the plush leather of his car. "Thank you so much."

She didn't see the wicked curl of his lips as she fell into a peaceful nap.

* * *

Everything was a complete chaos.

Today was not Frost's day.

Her horrible day started from the extremely rude awakening by Cisco who vibed straight into Barry's bedroom where she crashed last night. It was then followed by the brief panic upon seeing the cast on Cisco's arm and hearing the news of Lisa's injuries, before it shifted to the grim annoyance she felt when they told her of the new villain who apparently shared the same power of hers and threatened to specifically target Barry and Frost herself.

Speaking of Barry…the man also contributed in ruining her day as he unintentionally thrown her into a much bigger panic she felt when she noticed that he was gone without a trace—no notes, no anything—while there was a new villain who has declared to threaten his life out in the loose.

She didn't have the chance to panic properly at the idea that the villain had kidnapped Barry because CCPD had called an emergency backup in Central Square—the staggering number of civilians being impaled by stray shards of ice made her own blood ran cold as she hurried to save the day.

And now she was one of the victim of the ruthless ice shards.

Frost swore under her breath, eyes squeezed shut in pain when Cold wrapped her open wound with the scarps of fabric from his torn parka. Civilians were screaming, scrambling around the scene to escape towards the safety of the police's barricade that circled the area.

"Old man, did you get a hold of the doc yet?" Cold growled to his comms once he was done with the quick first-aid on Frost, his breath was ragged as they hid behind a flipped car.

" _I've tried, Mr. Snart_ ," Dr. Wells' voice chimed in both of their comms, worry flooded the old scientist's voice. " _I couldn't reach him. His phone is switched off._ "

"Barry's phone is charging at the apartment," Frost managed to grit out, one hand pressed over the drenched bandage on her shoulder. "He is probably not far, since he didn't think to take his phone with him when he left."

She prayed so hard that Barry was simply out doing his groceries or anything similarly harmless.

There was no note, so the idea of the doctor being kidnapped by this new ice villain was still on the table, but the whole team was determined to be positive and assume that nothing bad had happened to the man. Since the villain hasn't been gloating over holding Barry captive yet, perhaps the doctor had really gone out early in the morning for his groceries and was not stuck somewhere as a hostage.

Cold rolled his eyes behind his goggles. "The doc has horrible habit of waking up too fucking early on Sunday's morning," he complained, though there was a hint of distress and worry in his voice.

Frost huffed a restrained laugh, wincing at the large bleeding wound on her shoulder.

One could never guess how annoyed she was at being impaled by an element similar to her own power.

She casted a disdained look towards the remaining of the sharp ice that Len had broken while treating her. They didn't dare to pull the ice completely out, fearing that it would cause Frost to lose more blood than necessary. She growled as their latest menace giggled, completely annoyed at being bested by her own element.

There were three people who used ice right here, two of them were on the heroic side and they couldn't take down this solo masked ice witch.

"Come out, sweeties~"

She squeezed her eyes shut, hating the fact that this new villain somehow had the same voice as Iris, the very thing that caused her hesitation that ended with her current injury. The familiar voice had caused Cisco and Lisa to hesitate when they faced this villain last night, giving the woman an opening to attack and injure them, hence leaving her and Cold as the only non-injured members of the team to answer to CCPD's call of distress when this woman attacked again.

It was Sunday's afternoon, for fuck's sake. Didn't these villains have any concept of holiday or weekends?

"Frosty, my old friend~!" the metahuman cooed in the sickeningly familiar voice, causing Frost to wince at the close distance of that cruel sweet voice. "Won't you come out and face me properly?"

There was no mistake of it; the witch was right behind their current hiding spot.

Frost choked a hitched breath when the villain landed from a graceful back-flip right in front of her. Wavy ebony curls bounced to the movements as the woman crouched over her, one hand traced over the edge of her full-face mask.

"Perhaps you don't recognize me?" the sweet cruel voice cooed, sounding almost sulky and offended.

Frost restrained from squeezing her eyes shut again, not wanting to associate Iris with this monster.

"It's hard to recognize you with that full-faced mask, witch," she sneered instead, hearing the familiar sound of Len's gun powering up beside her.

"It's Killer Frost, hunny," the ice witch sighed, sounding both tauntingly sulky and exasperated, yet the dangerous dribble of malice was still present in her words. "Honestly, Cisco better not give me any of his geeky nicknames…"

Frost's brows twitched.

There. That familiar remarks again.

 _Who is this woman—_ , Caitlin's tirade halted when the villain revealed her face—the white carved mask shattered with a harmless flick of her wrist.

Frost felt like her heart just stopped.

 _No. No no no no no no no_ , Caitlin chanted deep within their shared subconscious, and Frost didn't have the heart to blame her counterpart at all.

She would've done the same if only her body would ever be functional again.

"Iris?"

Len's horrified croak sounded so detached, like the man himself couldn't believe his own words.

 _Iris_ —no, this was not their Iris, because it was impossible for her best friend to coldly murder five innocent souls in just in one night and continued to injure so many others the very next afternoon, _no no no no no no no no, this is not Iris_ —flashed them a playful grin, running one ice cold hand over Frost's cheek in an almost loving gesture.

The predatory malice in those brown eyes countered the loving gesture though; making Frost felt the horrified chills that racked through her whole body.

They vaguely heard Joe screaming for his supposedly dead daughter from the police barricade.

Then, everything went white when _Iris_ sent a powerful ice blast that send both Frost and Len flying across the street. Frost spat the blood out of her mouth, growling in distaste at the metallic taste as she casted a quick glance in Cold's direction—relief washed over her when she saw that the older man was already standing. She turned around, trying her best to ignore the delirious chant of Caitlin's denial deep within her subconscious, and frowned in shock upon seeing that their opponent was seething at them, freezing ice plastered her whole body to the wall, leaving only her head free.

Frost glanced at Cold.

"I have quick trigger finger," the older man drawled with a teasing smirk, a bit out of breath but the relief was evident in his voice.

Iris sneered at them.

"Cisco," Frost sighed to the comms, staggering to stand herself. "We would appreciate the power dampening collar now."

Though, before Cisco could reply, Frost felt a light teasing kiss on her cheek, her hair blown at the gust of wind while lightnings flickered in the air as the comms disappear from her ear.

"Nah, Cisco. We don't need that."

The speedster crushed the comms in his palm once he announced that.

"Oh, fucking hell," Len swore, powering up his gun and aimed it at the blurred silhouette of the speedster. "I had enough of you speedsters."

"Awh, Cold, my darling," the speedster cooed. "You broke my heart."

Len sneered. "I'll break more than your heart, speedy."

"Ooh, kinky."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Savitar," Iris growled, her face twisted to the familiar infamous Iris West's displeased scowl. "Stop flirting with the enemy and get me out of this ice, will you?"

The villain's voice and tone were so similar to Iris' that it made Frost shrunk back while Caitlin's delirious chant grew more erratic.

 _No no no no no no no no no no….Iris no._

 _Cait, shut the fuck up._

 _Iris, why? Why? How? How? Why is she attacking us? Why does she threaten to hurt Barry? Iris Iris Iris Iris…_

There was a probability that this woman was one of Iris' doppelganger, but Frost decided it was too risky to console and argue with her shocked other half while they were in the midst of a battle. So, she reluctantly tune Caitlin's voice out so that she could focus on the battle.

However, it wasn't much of a battle.

There was another gust of breeze and Frost felt another light teasing kiss on her cheek before she was thrown towards Cold, causing the older man to drop his gun in the attempt to brace her fall. They were barely able to stand properly when the ice shattered, and 'Iris' was broken free from her encasing. The villain gave them a sultry smirk and a wink.

"Tell my dear boyfriend that I'll come for him, okay?"

Frost felt the blood drained from her face when Iris slung her arms around the speedster's neck as the villain climbed up into the speedster's arms in a bridal carry. Her voice was mockingly taunting when she added;

"Or perhaps I can come for him now..."

And they disappeared from the scene in a trail of lightning.

Frost has that split second to digest the information before she realised the implications of Iris' words. She wasted no time in tugging Len close and straight up yelled to his comms for Cisco to vibe them both to the apartment. It was five minutes of panic, worrying over Barry's safety as Cisco arrived at Central Square, and vibed them to the apartment—the door barely survived when Frost kicked it open.

"Whoa!"

Barry stood awkwardly in front of them, one hand still holding the pan filled with stir-fried meat while the other was loosely holding onto the chopsticks—it was evident that he was in the middle of cooking when he rushed to the door to address the commotion they had caused when they barged into the apartment.

Frost visibly deflated in relief while Len collapsed against the doorframe, heavy relieved breath escaped the former thief. Cisco, on the other hand, has found comfort on the floor; his shoulders sagged in relief.

"Um, what happened?"

Cisco laughed, planting his good hand over Barry's shoulder. "Glad to see you, buddy."

Barry's frown was understandably confused as he shifted his gaze to both Len and Frost, silently demanding for an explanation.

Frost cracked a hesitant smile.

What would she tell him anyway? She couldn't go straight up telling him that his dead girlfriend was back with ice power and now was out hunting for him. Or the probability of inter-universe conflict with Iris' evil doppelganger as their latest villain. No, Barry would probably not take the news well. They needed to carefully breach the subject with tact and at a better time when he was not confused and probably panicked after seeing all of them crashing into his house like this. Len seemed to be on the same line of thoughts as her, as the older man casually squeezed Cisco's shoulder, giving a slight shake of his head before forcing his lips to a playful smirk.

"We can talk about that later, doc," he drawled, wincing at the sharp stinging pain of his side. "As for now, we need your expertise."

Barry's gaze finally landed on their injuries—the bleeding wound on Len's side, to the blood-drenched makeshift bandage on Frost own shoulder and then to the amateur cast on Cisco's arm—and then he was gone. They watched in silent as he ran across the apartment—putting away the half-cooked stir-fry, switching off the stove, before dashing into the bedroom, only to return with a bunch of towels.

He handed the towel to Len.

"Press that on your wound," he ordered, his tone slipping into the no-nonsense tone of a doctor.

"It's just a scratch," Len grumbled, but obliged anyway when Barry glared at him. "You ought to look at Frost first."

"She is not the one bleeding all over my floor, Lenny," Barry growled, firmer now before he shifted his attention to Cisco. "Cisco, can you vibe us to the medbay?"

"Sure can, doc," Cisco pouted, seemingly happy to not be at the centre of Barry's attention as the doctor fussed on both Len and Frost.

Frost, on the other hand, was simply relieved that they have an excuse to delay the breaking news to Barry.

Really, how could she explain this whole chaos to him?

* * *

 **A/N: I can't believe I forgot to upload this. I was pretty sure I have uploaded this on new year and wallah, what do you think, it isn't uploaded. Urgh.**

 **Arguably, this chapter is difficult for me to write, since I have deleted a 3000 words of scene from this one. Just before any of you ask, the 'Iris' in the last scene is Killer Frost in disguise and her whole purpose there was to ignite fear and confusion in Team Frost, while simultaneously putting Barry into brighter and more trustworthy light to the team (they made him a victim now, so why would anyone bother suspecting him to be the mastermind who orchestrated the whole thing?). I put in a little bit of Killer Frost's history in there, and trust me I have the temptation to write a one-shot of Killer Frost and her Detective Allen (just because the idea is so cute), so tell me if you want the one-shot. We had a glimpse of how Barry lured his victims, and his latest victim too!**

 **Random question, is the rest of the world so cold in January? I returned home for semester break and the weather is so freezing cold I just want to wrap my body in the warmest clothes and hibernate. Literally. I did nothing but hibernate this week. Sorry if the future update is slower. I keep falling asleep for three quarter of the day because it is so freaking cold. I may return to review and edit the grammar for this chapter once the weather is warmer.**

 **Read and comment, everyone~! Your thoughts keep me warm in this ice cold weather**


	10. Insanity

**A/N: Un-betaed. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

A focused Barry was a marvel to observe.

A focused _and_ angry Barry was terrifying to look at.

Frost averted her gaze from the seething doctor, keeping her gaze on Len at the opposite cot instead. The painkiller that she has swallowed wasn't enough to knock her out, therefore she has to brace the suffocating atmosphere of the medbay, unlike Len who was blissfully ignorant of the dangerous aura their resident doctor was emitting. The older man has fallen asleep the moment Barry sedated him and hasn't woken up since, leaving Frost as the only conscious patient in the medbay. Her own counterpart was in a horrible shock, and Frost hated it when she could do nothing to sooth Caitlin from the breakdown that the softer personality was having for both of them.

While Caitlin was suffering from a whiplash of emotional turmoil due to the shock, Frost was left numb and unable to feel anything.

Did she even have the right to be overly upset? She only knew Iris for 2 years since she was born from the explosion, but Caitlin has known Iris for almost a decade. Frost didn't think that she has the right to be overly upset when their latest villain was wearing a familiar face of a friend. Not when there were lots of other people who deserved to be more upset because they were closer to Iris than she was.

One of those people was this seething man that was patching her up.

Barry was usually easy to fluster and tease, especially if either Frost or Lisa was on the cot with their tops off and the doctor has to break his infamous gentleman code. It was a source of amusement for both Frost and Lisa to see how awkward and flustered the surgeon could be as he treated their injuries when they were the most free and least modest.

Though, this time, Barry seemed to not give a damn to practice his gentleman code.

Frost was barely able to conceal a shocked gasp when he was the one ripping her torn top off the moment she was seated on the cot, instead of waiting for her to take it off.

It almost seemed like he was a pro at that, and Frost was so sorely tempted to tease.

But Barry was emitting dangerous aura, and Frost has this slight hunch that it was not wise to provoke the guy who was going to stitch her up when he has a sharp object in his hands and looked like he was about to kill someone.

Barry grumbled under his breath, and despite not being able to hear the exact words, he sounded so annoyed that Frost started to get worried over seeing him this angry. She has expected Barry to be upset or even depressed after Joe and Dr. Wells explained their latest villain to him, thus this reaction was unexpected.

Barry was livid.

When he was told about their latest villain, Barry's expression has morphed from shock, to disbelief, to annoyance and then absolute anger in matter of seconds.

And the anger lasted up until now, approximately 2 hours after the initial explanation. He has worn that seething expression for 2 hours straight.

It was such a bizarre expression to see on the man that Cisco personally dubbed as Starlab's own warm sunshine.

"Last year, we met our evil doppelgangers from Zoom's Earth," she remarked after a long suffocating silence, hoping that her next suggestion would ease up Barry's anger, "…so, this ice witch could be an evil doppelganger for Iris…"

"Hn."

"I mean, there is a high chance that no one has defiled Iris' grave to resurrect her or anything…."

"I hope so."

Yikes. Angry Barry was a scary Barry.

"You're kinda scary when you're mad," she finally commented, honestly so fed-up in attempting to play his anger therapist.

"Uh-huh," he snorted, tipping his head just slightly so that Frost could see the slight quirk of his smirk. "Don't lie. I'm cute when I'm angry."

The joke would've passed if he wasn't emitting that killing aura all over the medbay.

Frost cocked an eyebrow, hardly convinced. "Seriously. You're a sight of horror movie when you're mad—owww, Barry!"

"Woops," he smirked, the needle he was using to stitch her up was prodded harmlessly over the edges of her wound. "My hand slipped."

There was a beat of silence as they both locked the eye contact, neither one of them wanted to back down.

"You a sadist, doc?" she quirked a smirk too, a bit relieved to his improving mood.

"Only when provoked," he shrugged, shifting his attention back to her half-stitched wound.

It was silence again after that, but the mood has lightened considerably—despite the dark aura he was emitting, his hands were much gentler and careful over Frost's tender injured skin—thus, Frost allowed herself to relax. When he finally snipped off the thread from the stitched wound, he seemed a bit more like himself, although the irritation and anger still lurked in his eyes.

"You're all set," he huffed, blatantly glaring at Frost's chest, looking like her bras have personally offended him.

Frost wondered if the bashful and easily flustered gentleman behaviour that Barry usually displayed was an act because he didn't even blush or waver as he reached his fingers to trace the straps of her bra that has slid down her arm.

"I'm not telling you how to dress, but I advise you to avoid using strapped bras until your wound healed," he said, suddenly sounding too professional and detached for Frost's comfort. "The pressure won't help your healing process."

"Sure," Frost mumbled, keeping the blanket over her chest as she shrugged her bra off, all the while she was keeping a watchful eye on Barry who nodded in approval before turning his back to her to check on Len.

It was oddly unnerving to see Barry acting so detached, unemphatic and…. _unpredictable_.

It was like he shifted to an entirely different personality.

"They're going to exhume Iris, you know?" she said, internally wincing when his shoulders stiffened—his hands froze mid-air, the dirty bandages hung loosely between his fingers. "Sometime next week after they cleared all the procedures…."

"I'm surprised that they didn't exhume her right now considering the number of civilians who has gotten hurt…."

Crap. So cold and detached. If Barry kept this up, he could give both Len and Frost a run for their money.

"City Hall has lots of procedure," Frost shrugged, keeping her gaze on his back while he pointedly not looking in her direction, busying himself with the menial task of changing Len's bandages. "She might still be down there. No one has defiled her grave. Iris is not evil."

There was a beat of silence, and Barry let out an exasperated sigh.

"I sure hope that you're right, Frosty."

Man, that seemed like it backfired. He sounded even more detached now.

Frost didn't like the awkward silence that ensued after that at all.

"Oh," he suddenly exclaimed—right after Frost has settled more comfortably on the cot—and turned around, that fake smile on his face again. "Think you can stay out of trouble for a couple of days?"

Frost's brows shot up to her hairline. "You're skipping town, doc?"

"Visiting patients," he shrugged, pulling the chair beside her cot now, his fake smile relaxed to a somewhat more genuine exasperated smile. "I have to see if the drug we formulated is working well on him or not."

"Oh," Frost mouthed, steely white eyes softened considerably—the sleepless nights working on the drugs to stabilise Barry's ' _outside of domain'_ brother flashed through her head, and she couldn't help but feel her mood lightened a bit. "You never told me their names," she huffed a small laugh, shoulders relaxed against the pillow that was supporting her back.

"Whose names?" He sounded genuinely clueless, but the knowing smirk on his face showed otherwise.

"I know that Savvi is not his real name, Barry," Frost huffed, rolling her eyes hard. "And the only thing I know about the sick one was that he is 34 years old," she huffed, mocking a sulky tone, though a little fond smile did spread across her face when Barry let out a genuine chuckle. "I hate not knowing my patient, Barry."

"Kids nowadays and their weird gang names…," Barry sighed, massaging his temples like that of an exhausted parent. "They're turning me grey early."

"Savvi is three years your junior," Frost retorted, scowling now. "And the other one is older than us. Don't sound so patronising."

Barry laughed a genuine laugh—the kind of laugh that sounded like it came straight from his heart—so boisterous and carefree that it caused Frost to smile too.

"He is not so mature, you know?" the doctor said with a soft voice, his gaze flickered to the pile of bloody ice shards on the metal trolley, and his expression suddenly shifted to that humourless cold smirk again. "Unpredictably immature…," he sighed, giving Frost that exasperated smile again.

Frost quirked a smirk. "I guess we better hope that our drug worked this time," she hummed, closing her eyes as the exhaustion finally caught up to her. "It will be sucks if you're injured in one of his violent childish tantrums."

"If high dopamine level is really the thing he needed to stop having the violent outbursts, I'm flipping a table," he snorted, scowling in distaste. "We studied everything—from his brain activity to the movement patterns of his altered cells, and we find nothing helpful at all…," he sighed, "….but if that one solution from Cisco's random snarky comment actually worked…"

"Hey, Cisco has a point, you know?" Frost cut his rant off, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. "The guy turned violent because he is scared, terrified and convinced that everyone is out to hurt him—it actually makes sense that maybe the thing he actually needed is to be happy."

"So, the best solution is to give him a happy-drug," Barry snorted, the sarcasm dripped from each word. "Why haven't I thought of that?"

"You need to look at the pieces too rather than only the big picture, Barry," she hummed, flicking her fingers at his forehead, only to pout when he avoided the assault. "So, you won't be around when they exhume Iris?"

Barry stared at her for a long time—his lips was pursed to a thin contemplative line, his brows furrowed in a thoughtful frown and his eyes were completely unreadable.

Then, he shrugged. "Maybe," he said, "I'll see if I can return early."

"Gonna miss your sunshiny presence in the cortex, doc," Frost quirked a smile, closing her eyes again.

There was a light warm weight over her forehead, and Frost found herself to nuzzle her temple against the warm palm, all the while feeling the weight of Barry's stare on her. When she sneaked a peek at the man, he was smiling fondly at her, his eyes softened, and his fingers were like warm comb that threaded through her hair. His mouth moved—an inaudible murmur—before he leant down to plant a gentle kiss over the tip of her hair.

Frost swore that she heard him murmur that he was going to miss her too.

* * *

So, how do you yell at that one woman who can turn you to ice sculpture without getting hurt in the process?

The answer was, you don't.

Forget the idea. Even if she didn't kill you, she won't give a damn about what you say. You'll look like an idiot when you stormed out of the multiverse portal to straight up yell at your very inconsiderate best friend and all that she did was stare blankly at you and state flatly;

"Blame your fucking doppelganger. This is his idea."

And said doppelganger retorted with a gleeful;

"It was hilarious."

Cue the mad villain laughter.

Savitar bashed his head to the cushion, mumbling something that suspiciously sounded like a plea for someone to end his life for the second time because he was so done with the Flash's insane shenanigans.

Barry, on the other hand, flipped a literal table.

He kinda sprained his wrist in the process, but it was _so_ worth it.

"Technically, I did oblige to your request to not hurt your _friends_ too much," Killer Frost chirped, trailing behind Barry with a wide amused grin spread across her face. "I can't believe you flipped that table."

"I hate chaos in my city," he grumbled back, cradling his wrist to his chest, scowling when her cold hand reached out to wrap around the tender swell. "Create terror, not chaos," he gritted out, contemplating between his ego to push her away or the convenience of having her cold around his wrist.

He was annoyed, irritated, and pretty much wanted to protest despite how futile his effort was.

Therefore, he nudged her away and kept his sprained wrist far far away from her grabby cold hands.

"You're such a baby," she sighed, running her fingers through her hair, one hand planted on her hips as she glared in exasperation at him. "All of you Barry Allens are overgrown babies."

"And you're an asshole," Barry scowled back. " ** _All_** _of you_ ," he stressed, glaring at her. "You already ruined your Earth. Stay away from mine."

"Hey, we make it better," Killer Frost hummed, still not giving up in trying to sooth his sprained wrist. "The crime level has been reduced to absolute zero."

There might be a cold pun somewhere in there, but Barry refused to acknowledge it because he was still mad.

"The crime level is zero because you _normalized_ crimes," he pointed out. "There is no crime because criminal activities are as normal as selling hotdogs on the street in this godforsaken dystopian Earth."

"Don't act like you haven't been taking advantage of our dystopian lifestyle, _Ripper_ ," Killer Frost retorted, jabbing one sharply manicured finger into Barry's arm as he fumbled with his passcodes. "Brought another lost kitten here, I see," she smirked, tapping on his door.

"Waste not, want not," he grimaced, acknowledging her words.

It was so much easier working on his victims here. No one cared, even if they knocked on his door to raid his fridge and found a dead body on his couch. It was the other way around. He often received supportive comments on how he was doing a wonderful job and also the unsolicited suggestions on best way to display his handiwork.

Such considerate neighbours he has over here.

"This one is a sleeping beauty," Killer Frost commented, poking her head into his doorway to stare judgementally at the curled up sleeping girl on his couch. "I don't get it how you get them relaxed enough to fall asleep around you while you're plotting how to mutilate their corpses."

"Deceptive charms and tact, sweetie," Barry said dryly, nudging her out. "Something that all of you are lacking."

"Stop being so salty," she sighed. Then, she suddenly perked up, leaning close to plant a cold kiss on his cheek. "See you tonight," she hummed, smoothing her hands over his shoulders.

"Tonight?"

"9pm at the lair," she hummed nonchalantly. "And you're going to be my plus-one, so make sure that you will _at least_ look hot," she pointedly ignored his baffled gape, her index finger pointed dangerously at his face. "Don't embarrass me."

"Plus-one? But what about your husband—wait plus-one for what?"

Her giggles were devious and mischievous when she kissed his other cheek, leaving behind faint lipstick marks on his skin.

"The Halloween party!"

And she literally skipped away, leaving Barry dumbfounded and confused at his own doorway.

* * *

Lucy Gabriella Britton was not a stupid sadistic spoiled bitch.

Yes, she was a rich spoiled bitch, and considering the hell she made her stepsiblings went through, people was right about the sadistic part too.

However, she was not stupid.

She knew she was about as good as dead the moment she woke up in a stranger's apartment and the view outside was nothing that even resembled the city she lived in. A brief self-check has revealed a strange redness on the side of her neck, with a tiny dot of clotted blood right at her jugular, so there was probability that at some point after being brought here, she was drugged too. The door was locked, and it was the kind of futuristic lock that she couldn't pick or hack, therefore, she easily deduced that she was trapped here for a purpose. Upon further venturing in the apartment, she noticed more things about her supposed captor.

The morbid paintings in the bedroom hinted a fascination—or maybe fetish?—towards death and mutilation. No sane person would hang the depiction of medieval tortures in the place that one was supposedly to rest and have _good_ dreams unless if he enjoyed the nightmares the paintings would prompt. The only edible thing in the kitchen was coffee, creamer and sugar—so she deduced either her captor couldn't cook to save his life, or this apartment was a safehouse he used to do his morbid deeds.

Considering that she was trapped here—and the back room was conveniently furnished with metal surgical table and obsessively organized chemicals and dissecting tools—Lucy was inclined to the second idea.

It was oddly amusing how calm she was with the whole situation but hey, she has already decided to die, so she honestly didn't give a fuck even if it seemed like she was kidnapped by a potentially sadistic killer.

Funny that she thought that the blond guy was an angel sent to elevate her guilt when he was actually her personal grim reaper. As if karma would be so kind to her after all of the sins that she has committed.

As she waited for the coffee to brew, she pondered on the identity of her would-be killer, and has came down to one name by the time she poured the coffee into the mugs that she has found in the cabinet.

Duh. Blond hair, looked like he was fond of the colour red based on the colour scheme of the apartment, probably a serial killer considering how well-prepared he was, manipulatively deceptive with those sweet gentle soothing words he spewed out….

She couldn't help but to feel giddy at the idea of being one of the Scarlet Ripper's victims.

He would turn her into a morbidly gross statement of art, no doubt—which would be a fun way to be remembered since there was no chance for her corpse to _not_ be discovered if the Ripper has gotten her. But meh, things wouldn't always go as planned, and Lucy thought that the eventual mutilation on her corpse would ease up the hatred in her stepsiblings' hearts should they survive at all. Emmy and Rod deserved to see her corpse being defiled and mutilated—the only consolation she could give to them since normal apology wouldn't be enough.

And she could almost see the kids she has bullied throughout her life enrolling in the steadily growing Scarlet Ripper's fanclub. The guy has his own fanbase despite being the most wanted man in Central—the evidence of how fucked up the world actually was.

Thus, she beat a hasty retreat to the couch and pretended to be asleep when the locked door beeped.

He almost sounded like a normal average man when he argued with his girlfriend—okay, not girlfriend since he was aware that she has a husband, so probably an affair…? And wow, early Halloween party? He has cool friends.

Then, she heard the door being closed, the lock beeped again and his careful footsteps made his way in. He suddenly halted, and she hid a childish grin under the fluffy blanket when it was obvious that he has noticed the steaming mugs of the freshly brewed coffee.

There was a beat of silence.

"For my guest to brew her own coffee….I'm such a bad host."

She assumed that was the cue for her to open her eyes. He has caught her.

Lucy made a show of stretching and yawning as she sat up from her lying position, blinking her eyes in the groggy adorable way that she often used to fool boys to fulfil her whims, only to stare in disbelief when she has a full look of the maskless infamous serial killer.

To say that she was shocked was a severe understatement.

So he wasn't really a blond after all. She should have known that the Scarlet Ripper was not stupid enough to walk around kidnapping his victims in his real face.

"Don't worry," she hummed, trying to play it cool despite her initial shock. "Your fluffy blanket made up for your mediocre hospitality, _Dr. Allen_."

Dude. _Dude_. Who would've thought that the only heir for the Allen's legacy, the guy that Lucy's own mother has been aiming to match her with for a completely political marriage despite their age gap, the man adored by the nation for his compassionate determination to serve the people, the very one that selflessly provided affordable healthcare for those who couldn't afford it, the rich doctor who read to sick kids and volunteered at animal shelter—who, in their sane mind would even thought of him as the infamous serial killer?

Dr. Allen was the infamous Scarlet Ripper.

No one was going to believe this.

"My apology," he tipped his head at her, green eyes were cold and calculative, although the smile he displayed was deceptively warm. "I wasn't expecting you to be awake."

She watched the way his gaze very subtly flickered to her neck, and there went the confirmation that she was indeed, has been drugged.

"I have been told that I have high metabolism," she shrugged, scooting to one side of the couch—a clear invitation for him to sit beside her.

"I'll keep that in mind," he hummed, looking like he was contemplating his options.

Lucy slouched against the plush sofa, making no move that indicated she wanted to fight back but instead, swaddled herself in the fluffy blanket, staring up expectantly at him. "You still have time to spare, doc?"

The mixed look of disbelief and amusement on his face was priceless.

Though, his smile was amused when he made a detour to the pantry where she has left the mugs. She kept her gaze on him as he raided through his fridge—he was taking a mockingly long time to select one of the many strange vials she has found in the fridge. He finally settled with one, smiling brightly as he dumped the content into one of the mugs, all the while he was keeping eye contact with her. He handed the tampered coffee to her, and she crinkled her nose at his prompting gaze, tentatively sipped on the drugged drink.

The chemical taste was an unpleasant tang of bitterness in the creamy coffee.

"You might want to consider fixing that horrible taste…," she complained, crinkling her nose again but made no move to abandon the coffee. "If I'm about to die, at least I want my last coffee to be good."

"My apologies," he smiled, extending his hand towards her mug. "I'll brew you another, if you want."

"Nahh," she shrugged instead, downing the whole content of the mug in one gulp, a bit relieved that her death won't be as painful as drowning in cold harsh ocean as she originally planned.

The CCPD has made an effort to keep his killing method as concealed as possible to the public, but Lucy has connections, and her connection told her that the Scarlet Ripper's victims died painlessly and peacefully.

He seemed even more impressed when she tentatively wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest, hearing his calm heartbeats. It was ironic that the rhythmic sound calmed her down, despite the knowledge that she was dying and soon she would feel whatever the effects of the drugs she has just willingly swallowed.

She remembered forcing detergent down Emmy's throat, and the memories of her stepsister's pained choking had her arms tightened around his waist, her face buried closer to his chest, wanting the sound of his heartbeats to drown the echoes of Emmy's pained sobs in her mind.

"Can you promise me few things?"

Her voice was meek and muffled against his shirt, but it seemed to be heard—his fingers were gentle as they thread through her hair, and she whimpered, clinging onto him like a child desperate for comfort.

"Sure," he hummed, resting his chin atop of her head. "You're such a wonderfully behaved guest. I'll try my best to fulfil your requests."

Somebody please remind her that this man was a serial killer with an established body count because it really didn't feel _that_ way.

"One," she started, shifting so that she could make an eye contact with him, wanting to be sure that her requests were really heard. "Listen to my story until the end, or until my death—whichever that come first."

"Easily done. That is my intention in the first place," he agreed, beaming all too brightly.

Dr. Allen has a beautiful sunshine smile, to be honest.

"Two," she exhaled, wondering how much time she has left before she died. "If you have time…," she hesitated, wondering if she could even make this request—normal people didn't ask favours from their would-be killers, do they?

But normal serial killer didn't gently cuddle their victims either, so maybe she could ask for favours in exchange for her life?

"If I have time…?" he prompted, and one glance at his face, she knew that his curiousity was genuine.

"Can you try to fix my stepsiblings…?" she requested meekly, wondering if that was even possible. "If they survive, can you try to restore the damage that I have done to them…?"

Emmy has lost her voice when she forced the detergent down her throat—the girl would never be able to sing again. Rod probably wouldn't be able to run again, either from the damage to his legs or the trauma itself—because from what she heard about the men she hired to destroy her stepbrother, they were ruthless, especially with teenage pretty boys. Though, to be honest, she hired them for Emmy in the first place, but who knew that those guys could even have a strange preference to teenage boys instead of a perfectly grown young woman? Emmy ended up as the side dish instead of the main course.

Lucy really hoped that Dr. Allen would at least try to fix the physical injuries of her stepsiblings because that was the only thing she could do to atone for her unforgiveable sins to them. Beg her would-be killer to fix her stepsiblings because the apology letter she left for them wouldn't even be enough to compensate _anything_.

He stared thoughtfully at the walls for a moment before shrugging and nodded. "I'll give my best."

She smiled at him, clinging tighter to him when there was a slight burning sensation in her chest. It has started, whatever that he has selected for her to drink, the effects have started to show. Though, she held on her strong front, settling even more comfortably on his lap as she slumped against his chest.

"Three," she huffed heavily, the burn spread to her throat—and she has to wonder if he has done his homework on her, and knew exactly what her sins were, because this burn was what she imagined Emmy felt when she forced the detergent down her throat.

Karma sometimes came in the form of a hot doctor who was secretly a sociopathic serial killer.

Or Dr. Allen was not a human and a real Grim Reaper that punished his assignments in accordance to their sins.

"Hmm….?"

"Do your worst," she huffed, relaxing a bit when the burn passed, leaving her with strange heaviness that made his chest seemed even more comfortable now. "I don't care how. Rape my corpse, throw it into a grinder, melt my bones in chemicals, record the process and show it live on public—whatever you want, do your worst," she smiled bitterly, honestly couldn't believe that she was actually requesting this. "Heck, if you want to force yourself on me now and livestream it, be my guest. There are lots of people who would love to see me being defiled, mutilated and violated."

He was silent for a brief moment, as if he was contemplating her request. For a moment she worried that she has asked too much, but then he tilted her face up; his thumb traced her lower lips while there was a look of concerned worry in his eyes.

He didn't say anything to question her strange request nor was he agreeing to oblige it.

Instead, he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"45 minutes," he said, letting her face to nuzzle against his throat, his cheek was resting against the side of her head. "You have 45 minutes before you lose your speech function, then another half an hour of being paralyzed before you lose your consciousness. After that, your heart will stop in a few minutes."

So that was the time she has left to confess her sins to him.

Lucy pouted. "I take it that you are not torturing me while I'm still alive?"

"Not my style," he shrugged nonchalantly. "Torture and pain are not fun."

Awh, that sucks. Lucy was expecting to be tormented, so that her stepsiblings would have the satisfaction of knowing that she has experienced a well-deserved torture.

"Please tell me that you'd at least defiled my corpse like you did to your girlfriend?"

He stiffened for a moment—going completely rigid against her slouched body as if her question has struck a nerve—but then he slowly relaxed, his grimace was strained as he huffed, "I'll consider it."

She went silent for a moment before deadpanning;

"Man…you're a horrible serial killer."

* * *

Barry was pretty sure he has a good sense of humour.

Yes, his humour could be a bit dark sometimes, especially if one would consider that he was secretly a sociopathic serial killer who enjoyed both spectrums of publicity—so he considered that his dark humour was properly justified. Despite that, Barry loved to think that there was a part of his sense of humour that was acceptable to normal society he lived in. He knew when to use his sense of humour so that it wouldn't traumatise _anyone_.

Then, why must his doppelganger have the worst sense of humour in the multiverse?

"You don't have to look so disturbed, you know?" Killer Frost hummed to his ear, her freezing breath invoked a chill that racked down his body. "If you squint, they actually looked _adorable_."

He squinted as much as he possibly could but still couldn't find the 'adorable' part.

Standards on this Earth were fascinatingly morbid.

Barry couldn't help but grimaced when her bare arms wrapped around his body, her breasts pressed flush against his back—for the love of God, Barry was honestly wishing that the grin Deathstorm was shooting at him was not jealousy-fuelled because it wasn't his fault that the man's wife has a fondness to molest Barry any time she has the chance. He could barely suppress a terrified wince when the burning man's grin grew maliciously wider the moment Killer Frost ran her cold teeth along the length of his neck.

Barry didn't have any good memories with fire after all.

Therefore, to be at the receiving end of a literal burning man's jealousy was not in his bucket list.

Thus, he decided to ignore his best friend's blatant flirtatious teasing and focused on the morbid show his doppelganger was displaying on the dance floor.

It was a bad idea.

Barry was honestly contemplating to screw his manners and common courtesy to the host right there and then. He was so tempted to empty the content of his stomach—to throw up all the alcohol and sweets Killer Frost had shoved into his throat earlier—directly onto the Flash's spotless floor.

Courtesy be damned—the speedster has superspeed, therefore the Flash could clean the floor off content of Barry's stomach in a blink of the eye if it bugged him so much—but this was too morbid, even for Barry.

He was a surgeon, not a forensic scientist damn it.

And he wasn't drunk enough to digest this.

"It's… _a corpse.._.," Barry managed to grit out, wincing again when his gaze met the hollowed stare of the embalmed stitched up face that was nestled to his doppelganger chest as the speedster flitted from one guest to another like a perfectly normal host. "I know Flash has some loose screws in his head but this—"

His words were cut off when Killer Frost turned him around, his hand was suddenly resting against the tight fabric of her corset while his other hand was trapped in her cold unforgiving grip as she led him for a dance. They made quite an odd match in this spooky dimly-litted setup (with exception of the Flash and his embalmed date which by far the oddest pair of all) because Barry wasn't prepared for this whimsical costume party at all.

And Savitar thought it would be funny to dress Barry up in his old suit when they dragged Barry out of his quarters.

It wasn't funny. Barry wasn't used to skin-tight clothing.

But he didn't have any say against the speedster so, lho and behold, here Barry was, dressed in vibrant red skin-tight leather (tri-polymer whatever) suit as he was half-forced to be the plus-one of his best friend who could easily passed as the queen of the vengeful dead. He looked like an escapee from a fetish con and she looked like a flawless ghoul queen—needless to say, Barry didn't think that the high-tech suit was cool now. Killer Frost's make up was dramatically red tonight—as opposed to her usual blues—and she had even taken the effort with the special effects.

Barry was impressed with the realistic details of the ripped skin of her sliced-open-and-rotting mouth.

He also thought that she looked hot and sexy dressed up like this—and he meant it from a completely platonic perspective, therefore, could Deathstorm stop staring at him, _please?_

"You fucked that bitch multiple times, Ripper," she deadpanned, giving him an exasperated look with those steely white eyes. "Don't be a hypocrite, babe."

Barry scowled at her. "I fucked her when she was _freshly_ murdered," he retorted, and instantly hated on his own defensive tone. "Iris has been dead for _months_ ," he muttered, shoving the rising guilt back into the depth of his heart and braced a quick glance at the ashen face of the embalmed corpse that was nestled at the crook of the Flash's neck. He instantly looked away, shaking his head, not wanting that image to stick inside his mind. "This is not okay."

"As opposed to you fucking her corpse right after you murder her?" Killer Frost retorted, her painted lips curved to a wicked smirk under the special effect make up of her ripped skin. "Time make the differences?"

He scowled back at her.

Killer Frost burst out to hysteric giggles that she eventually muffled against the lightning emblem over his chest as she buried her face there, her arms slid down to curve around his waist. Barry sighed, wondering how the hell he ended up attending this impromptu party in the first place. He was supposed to fulfil Lucy's last wish before he brought her back to his Earth, but yet Killer Frost has gotten to him first and forcefully booked his schedule for the rest of the night.

And to think that he was mad at these people literally a few hours ago.

"Hey," Killer Frost grumbled, poking one finger over his cheek just when Barry was about to sigh again. "You can deal with your prey later, babe. No one is going to enter your private quarters and touch her."

"I'm not so fond of parties," he sighed, making it obvious that he rather went back to his quarters to dissect his dead prey instead of being here.

Killer Frost shrugged. "And so does your dearest doppelganger," she said, tipping her head in the direction of the Flash, whom now was giving a show of a perfect haunting waltz across the dimly-litted dance hall with his corpse date. "It's rare of him to suggest anything remotely fun—especially in this time of war—so for now, enjoy the party and don't ruin everyone else's night, will ya?"

"It's not even Halloween yet," Barry muttered back, casting a suspicious look around the morbidly decorated area—he honestly wouldn't put past the Flash that half of the decorations were very much the real thing.

Barry has enough experience to know which one was the fake corpse and which was the real one right on the first glance.

The staggering amount of the real ones made him wonder if those were from the enemies the Flash didn't bother to burn to ashes.

"The only rules that existed on this Earth are the words of the Flash. If he says today is Halloween, then it's Halloween," Killer Frost grinned, though she did stop swaying Barry around (she was probably already fed up with Barry's dead weight that he purposely did as a protest to being forced to attend the party), and opted to retreat to the food table.

Barry quirked an eyebrow when she ignored the filled glasses and straight up downed the booze from the bottle. Noticing the look he was giving her, she grinned and pressed a glass of the alcholic punch to his chest.

"Drink," she instructed, popping the cap of her second bottle with her teeth. "You probably need the blissful ignorance of being drunk to survive the night."

Barry shot another quick glance to the dance floor and visibly cringed at the sight of his doppelganger dipping Iris' corpse in a romantic low dip. He quickly looked away from the morbid sight, his lips stretched to a grimace as he reluctantly drank the offered punch, knowing well enough to stay away from the unopened bottles that wouldn't be kind to his normal human's metabolism. He lost count of his own drink between his struggles to stop Killer Frost from downing her twentieth-something bottles (she forced more drinks down his throat as a retaliation), and by then, Barry was pleasantly buzzed and started to feel a bit too warm in his suit. The freezing cold that emitted from Killer Frost's body distracted him from the unwanted heat—she was leaning against his side, looking almost like she was about to pass out drunk.

Barry exhaled softly and tilted his head to rest against hers—he was suddenly missing the similar cold back home on his Earth.

Team Frost would be severely traumatised when CCPD dug up Iris' grave.

Casting another look at the deranged way the Flash was cuddling Iris' stitched-up corpse, Barry couldn't help but shuddered. The sight made his stomach churned in discomfort. He wasn't expecting for his doppelganger to go to this extent to ruin Iris' reputation.

(Geez…talk about salty ex—and that Iris wasn't even the Flash's own Iris!)

Anyway, he knew that the Flash wasn't exactly sane most of the times, but to retrieve Iris' corpse from her grave so that CCPD wouldn't find anything when they tried to exhume her….

….it was a bit _too much_.

Barry felt nauseated.

He definitely wasn't drunk enough for this.

"I think it's time you return to your dearest hubby," he murmured to Killer Frost the moment Deathstorm was close enough to them and nudged her into the man's arms before she could even retort.

He quickly made a beeline out of the party before anyone can stop him.

Barry just emptied the content of his stomach and felt slightly less tipsy than he was before when he finally decided to not return to the party. The empty stare of Iris' stitched-up embalmed body unnerved him. She looked pretty much like she was during the funeral—a bit imperfect with the stitch-job the funeral director had done to her to fix Barry's handiwork, but her beauty was still intact and preserved—and Barry found himself remembering the night she ended their happiness.

It wasn't as painful as watching Killer Frost using her face—because her dead stare and ashen skin meant nothing to him as opposed to her twinkling eyes and healthy chestnut skin—but the anger and memories of betrayal hurt him all the same.

Oddly enough, her dead stare also stirred his lust and that was definitely not okay.

"You look like hell."

Upon hearing the nonchalant comment, Barry whipped his head around so fast that he lost the little balance he just regained and would have fallen on his ass right on the floor if not because of Savitar's quick grab on his waist.

"And you're definitely drunk," the scarred speedster sighed, looking strangely exhausted and worn out.

"I'm not drunk," Barry retorted, using the offered leverage of the speedster's arm to straighten his ground. "Tipsy, yes, but not drunk."

Savitar gave him a disbelieving stare that Barry promptly returned with a defiant scowl.

He was expecting for yet another sarcastic or degrading remark but Savitar simply huffed a tired laugh and waved him away. "Go to sleep, Ripper," the scarred speedster said, not even looking at Barry as he headed to the opposite path.

Barry's mind flashed to Iris' body that was literally cradled in his doppelganger's arms, in the same building as him and decided that he would say no to sleep tonight. Being alone wasn't an option too because he tended to overthink when he was alone, so he made mental note of the possible destination of the scarred speedster and headed to get some coffee for the both of them. It took some time for him to find the time remnant that the coffees have turned lukewarm and his head has cleared a bit by the time he finally found Savitar in one of the many smaller control rooms of the building. The speedster was staring blankly at the monitor screens, his feet were crossed and resting over the control table while his back has slouched down the chair like he was too tired to keep it straight.

It was odd to see the scarred speedster so unguarded and exhausted, so Barry knocked on the door first before barging in.

Better safe than sorry.

"Thought I said that you need to go to sleep?" Savitar merely rolled his eyes to look in Barry's direction, before shifting his gaze back to the screens. "Go to sleep. You have a dead body to deal with in your room later."

"Can't sleep," Barry said, seating himself next to the speedster and offered the lukewarm coffee to his doppelganger, despite knowing that it wouldn't do much to Savitar's metabolism. "You look like you needed the sleep more than me, though," he commented, noting the hints of dark circles underneath the mismatched eyes, as well as the pale ashen skin of the speedster that could very well rivalled Iris' embalmed ones. "If I look like hell, you look like death."

If Barry needed any more proof of how tired Savitar was, this was it. The speedster didn't even make the effort to make a scathing remark, but instead, he simply gave Barry a tiny smile and closed his eyes, his shoulders relaxed against the chair.

"Babysitting is a tedious task," that was the only thing that the speedster offered.

Barry shot a quick glance to the screens and resisted the urge to wince at the sight of the Flash and Iris' corpse together in one of the footage. "So, the drugs Caitlin and I formulated was no good?" he asked.

Savitar snorted. "It worked damn too well."

"Then?" Barry was honestly confused.

He has noted that the air of this Earth was less tense, and a little snooping around and chatting up the rest of the criminals that have vowed their loyalty to the Flash has revealed that his doppelganger has been happier and saner nowadays. Perhaps due to the stress over the war has been reduced significantly for each resistance force they have vanquished, or the experimental drugs he has formulated with Caitlin were actually working—the lesser criminals were mainly happy that they were no longer been worked to hell and back to fulfil the Flash's warmongering whims. To not have injuries from subduing their leader during one of the speedster's violent outburst was a major plus too. They all were very happy and it showed in their enthusiasm dressing up for the rare party tonight.

The only one who didn't seem enthusiastic about the change was oddly the Flash's own second-in-command.

Though, before Barry could press on, Savitar silenced him with one confusing sentence;

"Don't poison him."

Barry stared at Savitar, wondering why he even thought that he would have a normal, non-confusing conversation with this particular doppelganger of his. It was impossible.

"Huh?"

"Don't poison him," the scarred speedster repeated, one hand motioned carelessly in the direction of the surveillance monitor, eyes remained close while his voice was almost inaudible, sluggish and close to a mumble. "I mean, Barry— _my_ Barry—don't poison him."

Barry has to wonder if the speedster was even lucid.

"Savitar…?" he called tentatively. "Are you awake?"

Savitar let out an exasperated sigh, and Barry swore that the speedster looked like he was fighting his own body to open his eyes. "His teasing is crossing the line," he gritted out, motioning to the screen again. "But we all would appreciate it if you don't poison him as a retribution. He has enough trust issue as it is."

Barry took a full minute of shifting his gaze between the mismatched eyes and the surveillance footage of the party, before he snorted, breaking to a fit of amused giggle—yep, he was definitely still tipsy.

Needless to say, his scarred counterpart wasn't as amused.

"If I'm not so tired, I would've silenced you, Ripper…"

"I know he meant that as a harmless teasing, Savvi," Barry assured, smirking when Savitar scowled at the nickname. "To be honest, it doesn't affect me that much."

Savitar quirked an eyebrow. "She's _Iris_ ," he said, and if not because of the sluggishness of his voice, Barry would've thought that he was shocked and confused. " _Your_ Iris. The real thing that I phased out of her coffin," his voice grew softer—whether it was because of disbelief or exhaustion, Barry wasn't sure. "You're not thinking about slitting your own throat?"

That was the moment of realisation Barry needed to realise that Iris' hold over him wasn't as strong as he thought it was.

"I'm only freaking out over how salty of an ex the Flash could be…," he murmured, lips curled to a tiny pleased smirk.

"Frost said that you were upset when she wore Iris' face."

Barry took a moment to contemplate that argument.

"Frost _moves_. She breathes, and her eyes are _alive_ ," he then countered flatly, jabbing his index finger to the footage that showed the Flash and his date. "This one is just a corpse. She is too dead to be Iris."

Savitar cocked an amused brow. "Too dead."

Before Barry could even retort, he yelped in shock when a lump of dead weight was dropped onto his back and the Flash's whiny voice sounded right from behind him.

"Aw, Ripper you're no fun."

Barry has to wonder if he was more drunk than he originally thought so because he definitely didn't hear the speedster walking in or feel any breeze or statics that usually announced the Flash's entrance. He struggled to shrug the dead weight off his back, only to grimace when he came eye to eye with Iris' dead stare—her corpse was so close to him that the blue make-up on the stitched face smudged and left unwanted stain on Barry's cheek.

Her dead stare was the exact same like after he killed her months ago that Barry mentally swore, hating his mind for reminding him of the twisted lust that this dead stare had invoked within him.

It had felt so good back then, when Iris no longer has the ability to resist his whims.

"You do feel something, though."

The Flash's smug comment snapped him out of his stupor, and he promptly scowled at the speedster.

"Shut up."

"She's a total beauty when she no longer talks, right?" the Flash grinned, his teeth as white as his make-up as he pulled Iris into his arms again, swaying her in a stationary dance. "No more hateful words," he twirled the corpse once, Iris' stitched face rested in the crook of his arm now. "No more disdainful glare…," he chuckled, dipping Iris in a romantic dip, teeth flashed in a manic grin when he straightened her back up, moving her around like a stringless puppet in his arms as he added; "…she doesn't get mad, she doesn't hate, she doesn't yell, _she no longer fight back_."

The Flash's eyes were deranged, his grin was manic when he clasped his hands over the front of Iris' tattered bloody dress, his chin was hooked over the exposed bones of her shoulder and his voice was low as he hissed;

"And she could no longer betray our trust."

Barry reached out a hand to stroke Iris' cheek, running the knuckles of his fingers over the stitches running down her temple to her jaw, a tiny smile grew on his face. "Yeah, she's a total beauty like this."

Savitar made a gagging noise.

"Don't be jealous, sweetie," the Flash instantly cooed, dumping Iris into Barry's lap like a child discarding an unwanted toy as he was suddenly looming over the scarred speedster—one hand cradling Savitar's jaw while the other was resting a bit too low down Savitar's hips. "I still adore your feisty stubbornness the best."

If Savitar has protested, the grumbling words were not heard.

"Cute," the Flash chuckled, pressing yet another gentle kiss at the corner of the scarred speedster's scowling lips, his arm curved tightly around Savitar's waist. "I won't have to resort to her if only you agree to be my plus-one, you know?" he pouted, jerking his head in a nod towards Iris' direction. "She could've have her reserved spot at the corner with the rest of the decorations and I won't have to waste my precious time getting rid of her rotting parts," he stated sulkily.

Savitar's scowl deepened. "You wanted us to be Jack and Sally, asshole."

"You would've been a wonderful Sally."

"You wanted to shove me into a frickin _dress_."

"It's for the spirits of the Halloween," the Flash retorted, sounding a bit too childish and pouty for a grown 34-years-old man.

Savitar groaned, glaring in disdain at the bloody wedding dress Iris' corpse was wearing.

Why the Flash kept this bloody wedding dress of his dead ex-fiancée was a mystery that Barry refused to ask.

"The dress is stained with blood," Savitar growled, blurring a bit as if he was attempting to phase out of the Flash's hold. He failed to escape, but his lips curled to a cruel smirk nonetheless, "Barry, the hell are you implying?"

"My Iris started the trend of brides to wear her groom's blood on her wedding dress."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep. Bloody wedding dress was a trend back then."

"A decade ago, you mean."

"Vintage," the Flash hummed, leaning down for another quick kiss that Savitar evaded.

"Do you want me to spill your blood over my clothes…?" Savitar growled, and Barry knew that it was no empty threat because the scarred speedster already has a vibrating hand pressed over the Flash's ruffled shirt. "Fuck off, Barry. I'm tired."

The Flash grinned.

Savitar's exasperated growl was drowned when the Flash leant close again, and as he observed the way Savitar's vibrating hand slowed to a frantic grip over the lapels of the Flash's costume, Barry himself grew restless, wondering why the hell he could still be turned on while practically being the third wheel between his superpowered doppelgangers—the embalmed corpse of his girlfriend on his lap was just the cherry at the top of this whole weirdness.

Savitar only have that split second of freedom to glare at Barry when Flash retreated to shrug his suit off—the scarred speedster was giving Barry an angry accusing glare when the Flash's vibrating hands got even more frisky on him.

" _I didn't do anything_ ," Barry mouthed to the trapped speedster, but it was no use because Savitar was conveniently distracted.

Geez, it was weird to be the third wheel of your own doppelgangers, but Barry has a bigger problem he needed to worry about.

He needed to stop this, needed to stop staring at the way his doppelgangers were fiercely making out right in front of him and needed to stop thinking about how good it was when he raped Iris' corpse back then…

He refused to have an encore of that twisted night of lust—no, not again. Iris' corpse wasn't as perfect as he thought it was, and was in no shape for an encore, if the hard bones rubbing down against Barry through the layers of fabrics were any indicator.

Barry was in the middle of silent contemplating whether he should ask Deathstorm to cremate Iris' corpse to be rid of the evil that tempt his lust (or just admit that he was as morally fucked as his superpowered doppelgangers and retreated to his quarters for some quality time with his victim) when the Flash chuckled, distracting Barry from his mental debate. The speedster pressed one more kiss on top of Savitar's forehead, his lips quirked to a smirk when Savitar half-heartedly tried to shove him away—the scarred speedster seemed like he was so close to passing out of exhaustion.

"There are no rules here but my words, you know?"

"What?" Grateful for the distraction, Barry asked, keeping his gaze on his doppelganger and pointedly ignoring Iris' head that rested lifeless against his throat.

Cold. She was so cold. Not icy cold, but there was no life inside her at all.

It felt strangely comforting—this lifeless weight nestled to his chest.

"There are no rules here but my words," the Flash repeated, letting the semi-conscious Savitar to curl on his lap as he reached his hand out—the hot palm curved over Barry's cheek, a striking contrast to Iris' cold corpse. "Aren't you tired, _Barry_?" he hissed, his voice so smooth that it almost sounded hypnotic. "You relied on your mother to love and protect you….," the manic smirk on the Flash's face widened when Barry visibly winced.

He never talked about his past with his doppelgangers, so how did the Flash know…?

The speedster brushed Barry's hair out of his face, humming harmlessly; "…but she left, didn't she?" The curve of his smirk was vicious as he pushed on, seeming like he enjoyed the pained melancholic expression of his doppelganger. "And your dad? He fucked up so bad…didn't he?" the Flash's hand was unbearably hot even through the tri-polymer heat resistance suit, making Barry struggled to not swat that hand off his thigh. "You poor boy," the speedster cooed, grinning maniacally upon the panicked horror on Barry's face.

Barry exhaled a loud relieved breath when his superpowered doppelganger removed that hand off his thigh.

"That's not funny…," he mumbled, struggling hard to ignore the lingering warmth on his thigh, the ghost of the warm palm over his limb made him uncomfortable.

"What's funny to the demon is the horror to the mortals," the Flash smiled, the skeleton make-up did no justice to the horror his careless cruelty has invoked.

Barry was trembling in fear.

No, he wasn't afraid of his doppelganger—because despite everything, he knew he was too valuable to be disposed that easily—but the idea that the Flash knew of his past didn't sit too well with him. The speedster has an annoyingly irritating habit of using someone else's nightmare as the source of his amusement.

"And your Iris left you too…," the Flash chuckled, as if the fact amused him so much, "…but I guess you can't lament over something that you have never truly had."

Barry grimaced.

Ouch. That actually stung.

"I told you that she would turn on you the moment she notices your flaw," the speedster hummed, tapping the knuckles of his fingers over Iris' temple, the soft hollowed empty sound made Barry realised that this Iris was even more empty than he originally thought. "Point is, you should take after my example and do whatever you wanted. People leave us all the time…," he giggled, scooping Savitar up into his arms, and as if he wanted to make a point, he made a show of affectionately nuzzling to Savitar's throat, "…so, you shouldn't care."

"Easy for you to say," Barry muttered, his mind unwillingly retreated to Frost and Caitlin, and to an extent the rest of team Frost too.

He couldn't _not_ care about them. They were nice to him.

The Flash snorted—the sound was mocking, as if he knew what exactly Barry was thinking. Barry flashed his teeth in an uncomfortable grimace.

"You can't resurrect the dead like how I did…," the speedster droned on, giving a pointed glance towards the sleeping speedster in his arms, "….but you can definitely fuck them," he shot another pointed look at Iris' corpse. "Get laid, Ripper. Studies showed that sex makes you happier and since you're socially uptight, the dead is the best choice for you.," he waved a dismissive hand in Iris' direction. "You don't have to bring a corpse to dinner date before you bed them you know?"

Barry shuddered. "Fuck, Flash. When you put it that way, it sounded weird."

"Like anyone would judge you here," the speedster retorted, shifting a bit so that Savitar was snuggled more comfortably to his chest. "Leave your humanity and morals at the portal."

Barry didn't realise that his lips has quirked to a smirk that perfectly mirrored Flash's own. "Basically, you want me to be just like all of you," he deadpanned, although there was no bite in his tone.

"Just want to let you know that you have a home here too," the Flash shrugged, completely nonchalant, though there was something that resembled sincerity when he mumbled out the next words. "A completely non-judgemental home."

"Aww…that is so sweet of you, Flash," Barry cooed, placing his free hand over his heart in an exaggerated show of swooning. "You warmed the cockles of my heart."

Barry didn't miss the hint of pink on the unpainted skin of the speedster's neck. Nope. He totally didn't miss that.

"Fuck you," the speedster scowled.

And whoosh, he disappeared just like that, leaving Barry alone with the embalmed corpse of his dead girlfriend.

Barry cracked an amused laugh, honestly wasn't expecting for the Flash to use the most basic evasive technique when he was embarrassed. Carrying Iris' corpse back to his quarters, he lamented on her dead empty weight and the philosophy of life and death. He still loved her. Remembering her would reopen the wounds he though he had healed, but forgetting her felt like he was tearing his heart to half again. But to see her like this, merely an empty shell of what she once was, it felt comforting and nice.

It was funny that her memories felt more real than this embalmed corpse.

Upon reaching his quarters, Barry eventually ditched her on the couch, having no interest in the empty husk of the woman he loved, and strode straight to his bedroom.

"Leave your humanity and morals at the portal, huh?" he huffed, sitting at the edge of the bed, right next to the limp body swaddled in his blanket.

Lucy's last words were her plea to be violated—something that he oddly enjoyed obliging as the girl went limp and lifeless in his arms.

Barry has enjoyed obliging to her last request way too much that he lost track of time, and was barely able to do anything but throw a blanket over her naked abused body by the time Savitar and Killer Frost came barging into his quarters to drag him to the party.

"I haven't even kissed you, right?" he murmured to the limp body, tracing his thumb over her cold lips and felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

Her eyes were empty and glazed—deep warm brown so similar like Iris'—and Barry huffed another laugh, wondering if the Flash's insanity was contagious, or it was in the nature of Barry Allen to be such a salty, creepy ex over Iris West.

"Well, you did ask," he murmured, brushing her red hair away from her fair skin so that his palm could curve perfectly over her cheek.

As he smashed his lips to hers, he remembered the muffled screams, the resisting tensed body and the teary defiant brown eyes of the one and only Iris West.

And oddly, it turned him on even more.

"You did ask for it… _Iris_."

* * *

 **A/N: I have no excuse for my lack of updates in February. I was too cold to function. Hey, I'm a cold-blooded creature. When it's too cold, I can't function. I literally alternate in writing one paragraph (or one sentence) between this story and my other story, Baby Steps, before falling asleep halfway through. Let's hope spring won't be as cold and I could be more productive. Maybe.**

 **Anyhow, shit has started to go to the morbidly twisted path in the most insane way. Barry has started to go insane, y'all.**

 **Have I mentioned somewhere in my previous author notes that good will NOT triumph over evil in this story? No? Well, here is your warning. And if you want to know when Barry would stop playing tug-o-heart-war with Frost, it was set to happen 2 years after Iris' death, estimately a year from current timeline, after his doppelgangers knocked some senses into him (not a spoiler, since I wrote that event first before writing this one). So, for now bear with their _close_ friendship.**

 **BTW, Flash totally dropped a major hint of the path of this story somewhere up there.**


	11. Siblings

**A/N: Un-betaed. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

The morning after you realised that you're insane and potentially fucked up in the head just like your supervillain doppelgangers should be… _mind-opening_.

Or, at the very least, Barry should feel like he was reborn anew as a completely psycho killer.

It was not.

If anything, it was confusing and exasperating as fuck.

"Do I even want to know?"

Barry sighed, honestly not impressed at the unwanted guest in his freezer.

Really. He was asking the serious question here. Did he really want to know?

"No," Savitar grumbled, teeth chattering as he nudged Lucy's corpse to the side and crawled out of the freezer. "Fun fact….," he gritted out, wrapping his arms tight around his exposed torso in the futile effort to keep warm, "…phasing from inside a freezer is hard," a choked freezing gasp, "…shit, your freezer is colder than Frost's ice."

"Then, the heck are you doing inside there?"

Like usual, nothing that Savitar made ever made sense.

"Hey, while we're at it, let's lock Barry inside here and see if he can phase out."

" _Savitar._ "

Barry stood his ground when the scarred speedster glared at him. Nuh-uh. He was way past the line of sanity to even consider the cons of trying to defy the time remnant. They were equally insane, so Barry wasn't going to show any fear now.

"This is all your fault. You and your icy new girlfriend," the speedster muttered, rubbing both of his palms together.

"Wait, what?"

" _Your_ fault. You and your ice heroin."

Barry's mind immediately classified 'ice heroin' as two separate types of recreational drugs before he realised that Savitar probably was talking about Caitlin and Frost. He blinked at the freezing man, confused and a bit insulted for being blamed of a crime that he wasn't even aware of.

"What did we have anything to do with this?!"

Savitar simply shivered and glared at him.

"I didn't tell you to accompany Lucy in the freezer!" Barry denied the unspoken accusation though he couldn't help but wince upon seeing the bluish tinge on the scarred speedster's skin.

"Your fault," a pause and a freezing gasp, "…cold."

Taking pity of the time remnant's condition, Barry held his tongue and scrambled to look for anything to help warmed Savitar up. However, since they were technically in his lab-slash-morgue and everything here were either sterilized tools, cold metal furniture or plastic sheets, there was nothing that could be potentially warm at all. Sighing (and wishing that the Flash wasn't entirely possessive), Barry wrapped his arms around Savitar's bare waist, feeling the time remnant stiffened in discomfort upon the first touch as Barry tried to transfer as much as his body warmth as possible.

"Oh, fuck not you too—" Savitar hissed and tried to squirm free, looking oddly terrified for some godforsaken reasons. "Fucking hell, you have a fresh corpse in there, Ripper!"

"I'm aware," Barry rolled his eyes, kicking the freezer's door shut as he half-dragged the squirming Savitar into his much warmer living room. "I came here for the full intention of morning sex with her and your presence kill the mood."

"Geez, what a way to make a man feels special, Rip."

"You're an uninvited cock-blocker, so….," Barry huffed, shoving the speedster onto the couch and threw the blanket towards the man. "What the hell are you doing in my freezer out all of place?"

"It's auto-lock. Couldn't open it from the inside, too cold to phase out."

"You're not answering the question, Savitar."

Savitar shivered. "Last place he'd look."

"He, who?"

"Your fault."

Barry was so tempted to toss his coffee pot to the time remnant's head.

Really, Savitar was trembling in frozen cold. The speedster wouldn't notice Barry's intention quick enough to avoid the assault.

But, he has made a new resolve that he would at least be the sanest among the three versions of insane Barry Allen in this building, therefore he held the urge and proceeded to brew his much needed coffee.

High alcohol tolerance and side-effect of the Flash's healing serum still didn't excuse him from having a headache caused by his weird doppelganger.

Speaking of that, he wondered if continuous use of Flash's healing serum that Killer Frost injected to heal his sprained wrist would alter his DNA too because Barry honestly thought a bullet through his brain sounded really nice right now. If the one-shot of the serum could grant him a tiny piece of his doppelganger's insane healing rate, continuous use might have made the effects permanent.

He honestly has lost count on the times he wished taking a bullet to the head wouldn't kill him.

Such wonderful healing rate would make dealing with his superpowered doppelganger so much easier...such as this trembling and practically half-frozen speedster hogging his couch and his blanket. The speedster who was probably too cold to function.

Because there was no way in normal circumstances that the scarred speedster would snuggle to the gigantic fluffy teddy bear that the delivery service has left on his couch. Nuh-uh. This sight has started to freak Barry out a bit.

 _Ha. Ha. Error 404: Savitar has malfunctioned._

Barry wondered if it was still proper of him to give this custom-ordered teddy bear as a Christmas gift like he originally intended. Wouldn't that be a bad manner to give used items as Christmas gift?

How the hell was he going to pry Savitar away from the teddy bear?

"Why the fuck is this teddy bear so warm?" Savitar mumbled, but he showed no intention of detaching himself from the plush toy, but instead seemed to be relying on it for warmth when he rubbed his palms and pushed them up the fluffy fur. " _Warmth_."

"Custom-made plush toy that maintain a regular human body temperature," Barry replied nonchalantly, wondering if he has some alcohol left to dump into his morning coffee. "It's fully safe, so even if you threw it into the washer, it won't electrocute anyone."

Savitar shifted his gaze to stare at him, his cheeks were still pale and tinted with bluish hue, but the amused disbelief was prominent in his expression.

"What?" Barry snapped, feeling self-conscious all of sudden.

"I know you're one lonely fucker, but I don't think it is to this point…," Savitar shuddered, hunching when he let out a tiny kittenish sneeze into his blanket. "Holy damn fuck, Ripper, you're weird."

"Says the guy who accidentally trapped himself in the freezer and is currently cuddling a teddy bear," Barry deadpanned, deciding that he was going to hell anyway and dumped a generous shot of bourbon into his coffee. "And I ordered that as a Christmas gift. It's not for me."

"The hell you're doing buying Christmas gift in October, weirdo?"

"Early shopping," Barry shrugged. "My schedule is booked throughout November and December—hospital and orphanage visits, Team Frost's party, Queen's Christmas Gala, my own Thanksgiving charity event, CCU's Winter Fiesta …," he listed as he poured another mug of coffee for his guest, his frown deepened for each event he listed down. "And you have no rights to call me weirdo. I found you in the _freezer_."

"It's _your_ fault that I have to hide in your freezer," Savitar snapped back, sounding genuinely disgruntled.

"Uh-huh…," Barry nodded sceptically, downing the whole tall glass of coffee and bourbon in one gulp.

He definitely was going to regret this.

"It's the last place he is going to look for me," the scarred speedster mumbled, curled up in the swaddle of fluffy blanket. "He knows I'm not a masochist, and cold is painful for speedsters."

"Why are you hiding from him anyway?" Barry frowned, striding across the room to bop the warm mug to Savitar's head, of which the speedster promptly grabbed and pressed to his cheeks. "Usually, you two break out to a brawl whenever you have an argument."

A very terrifying brawl that looked like two gods fighting each other.

That description might be a bit too true considering that Savitar called himself the God of Speed while the Flash was mutated to a whole new level of living being that could very well be considered as a god of his own species.

Barry couldn't suppress the horrified shiver that racked down his spine.

His doppelgangers' domestic spat was terrifying.

"I had enough of being pinned down to every flat surface available thank-you-very-much," the speedster grumbled, shooting another glare towards Barry. "And it's all your fault."

Barry inhaled a deep breath, calculating the alcohol he has consumed last night and contemplating the health trouble he would face if he downed another tall glass of alcoholic coffee, before deciding that it wasn't worth to risk his liver since he has dangerously exceeded the healthy amount of alcohol he could consume for the week. Thus, he patiently smiled at his doppelganger, showcasing the brightest smile he could muster.

"And why is it my fault?" he asked, as patient as he could.

"Your drug hijacked his system and give him insatiable libido, you sadistic doctor," Savitar gritted out in between multiple continuous sneezes. "He didn't want to stop."

 _Oh._

 _Oooooh._

Barry might have forgotten to inform of that probable side-effects since he wasn't expecting the experimental drug to actually work on Flash at all.

"You literally have brothels business," Barry deadpanned. " _Brothels_. Filled with men and women to serve that specific purpose."

"Frosty threatened to freeze his dick and smashed it to pieces if he breaks the remaining prostitutes," the time remnant shuddered, and Barry couldn't help but give the same reaction—he knew that Killer Frost has a sadistic streak and would be all too happy to do just that. "He probably could regrow it back—don't ask, not even I could understand how his healing works after the second lightning—but no one want that kind of pain."

"So, you volunteer as tribute."

"I was volun-told as a _sacrifice_."

Barry chuckled, placing a hand on the speedster's shoulder. "We appreciate your selfless sacrifice."

"Fuck you."

Before Barry could retort, there was a loud bang on his door, followed by the Flash's voice announcing that he was coming in. Barry has that split second of seeing Savitar's face paled in panic before the speedster ran away the exact time Flash phased in, leaving Barry to clean after his spilled coffee. Flash shot one look at the empty glass on the counter, to the spilled coffee on the floor, connected the dots that there were originally two people in the room, and promptly broke to a giggle.

"I assume that you didn't see which direction he ran away?"

Barry quirked a smile and shrugged. "Not a speedster. My eyes couldn't catch your movements."

"I can turn you to one if you want?"

Barry pretended to contemplate the offer—weighing the advantage of having amazing healing abilities and superspeed that would immensely help with his researches and night job versus the probability that his already compromised sanity could be destroyed even more if he allowed himself to be completely mutated with the Flash's cells—and shook his head.

Nah, he wasn't going to deliberately subject himself to be the Flash's guinea pig.

"Awh, you're no fun."

"Not fond of being experimented on, _Flash_."

"It wouldn't hurt," the Flash pouted, and he must have been in a very good mood because it took only a quick blurred movement for Barry's slightly messy living room to be spotless clean again. "I would be happy to have you on my ranks."

"I thought that offer is open even if I'm not a meta?"

"It would be more fun if you're a meta," the Flash shrugged, very causally raiding Barry's fridge, only to scowl at the lack of edibles inside. "And you need to do your groceries. Or at least inform Gideon to restock your fridge."

"I'm not even staying here long, Barry," Barry sighed, checking on the teddy bear to see if it can be salvaged as a proper gift. "There is no use for restocking when I only stay here for a couple of days."

On a brighter note, the teddy bear still look brand-new, so maybe Barry didn't have to order another one. The waiting list was impossibly long, and it was such an exclusive custom-made too, that even if Barry misuse Flash's absolute authority to fast-track his order, he wouldn't be able to get a new teddy bear before Christmas.

And he really wanted to give this to Frost. He was positive that Frost would appreciate the artificial warmth of the teddy bear since not many people on the team would willingly hug her for more than a few seconds.

Though, Barry's imagination of Frost's reactions was interrupted when he felt statics in the air. It was a familiar sensation—after months working with the Flash, he was used to the raw energy his doppelganger leaked out. Though, the thing that he wasn't used to, was the sudden change of the air. Prior to his latest attempt of experimental drug, the speedster has difficulty to suppress his power, walking around like a literal overcharged energy reactor ready to explode. However, since Barry arrived here yesterday, he noticed that his doppelganger was able to suppress the raw energy; it was as if the speedster has better control of his new power.

Thus, this sudden shift from peaceful serene environment to tensed air that was literally charged with statics invoked a shiver down his spine. Barry immediately turned around, his fight-or-flight instinct was triggered as his mind urged him to seek comfort in the ice blade he always kept near, only to blink in confusion at the stare his doppelganger was giving him.

Barry retreated, his mind was jumpstarted by the fear as he promptly charted the best escape route he has.

There was none.

If the speedster snapped into his violent mode, Barry was officially fucked in the worst way possible.

"Flash?"

As if to make it worst, the beaming smile Flash gave him was creepy and completely unsettling.

" _Barry?_ " He tried again, hoping the name would snap some senses into the speedster's head.

"I'll have Gideon to keep an inventory of your quarters."

"There is no need for that—"

"Better be prepared," the Flash interrupted, his teeth flashed in a bright smile. "We never know if you might need an extended stay here."

Barry gaped.

That, was not a good omen at all.

* * *

"You're not out patrolling?"

Caitlin looked up from the book she was reading and shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "My doctor forbade me from getting into trouble."

That much was true, since Barry technically did ask her to stay out of trouble, though, to be honest, she was pretty annoyed the team has outvoted her and sit her out of the patrol team. Despite her protest, her team didn't listen to her, saying that she was too distracted while Frost was too exhausted after taking over the control from Caitlin for three days straight.

Okay, scratch that. Caitlin was _very_ irritated when her own team didn't trust her.

"Wise of you to follow his order," Barry smiled—a genuine beaming smile that make Caitlin felt even worse.

She was counting on him to be visibly upset.

It was horrible of her part, but she was expecting Barry to be more upset and devastated. At least she wouldn't be alone at the receiving end of the team's sympathetic gazes. Heck, she would do anything to stop the team from treading on thin wire around her just because they feared they would trigger another emotional outburst. She was fine now. The shock has left her and now, all that was left was anger and determination to hunt Ripper and all of the villains on the maniac's friendlist.

"He's a scary guy when he's mad," Caitlin teased, trying to latch onto whatever positivity that the man was holding on. "Frost kept saying that it would be unwise of us to disobey him."

Barry's laugh was the sunshine that was absent in the cortex for the past few days. Caitlin kinda missed his warm nature.

"She was right," he snorted in between huffed laughter, looking completely at ease.

Caitlin envied him. Barry bounced back from shock and grief faster than anyone she had ever met—and she has met numerous amazing people, including but not limited to a fellow vigilante, a powerful alien from a parallel universe, an assassin slash captain of legendary time travellers and so many of her other allies.

None has ever bounced back to normalcy as quick as Barry. Not even Oliver, whom she has thought as her own mentor and has been in the same predicament as Barry.

Those two men could totally bond over their supposed dead girlfriend coming back to life with a splash of evil.

"You look better than the last time we see you," she commented, taking in the laidback smile and the teasing glint of the surgeon's eyes—wait a minute….

This was not Barry.

 _Caity_ , Frost hissed, finally awake from her slumber. _Stay cool_.

Her other self must have noticed it too, or perhaps was awaken from slumber at the sudden spike of adrenaline in their shared system.

Flickers of lightnings almost _always_ a bad omen that signalled a speedster in disguise.

And most speedsters they have met were evil. Zoom the last year's menace, Impulses the juvenile villain from parallel universe, Reverse Flash—the crazy guy who kept yelling at Caitlin for being Central City's hero instead of his idol, the-Flash-whatever-the-hell-he-was—and did she mention Trajectory yet? Because that bitch was worst of all evil speedsters, despite being the quickest to be stopped.

"Am I?" he said, tipping his head slightly to the side as if he was pondering on her statement, his lips curled to a cruel smirk that did not fit Barry Allen that she knew at all. "I guess the family visit did me great."

 _Stay cool, Caity. He might already have Barry in captive._

 _I know._ Caitlin thought back, schooling her face to a composed mask and stared straight into his eyes. _Stay on alert, Frosty. We might need to fight._

"How's the family, _Barry_?" she prompted, eyes seeking for the slightest shift of his expression that may hint of the fate of their resident doctor.

He shrugged, smiling at her good-naturedly but never breaking the eye contact.

She suddenly found it difficult to maintain the eye contact, her instincts begged her to lower her gaze, to submit to the top predator. She fought that instinct, curling her own lips to a saccharine smile despite the fear that engulfed her.

Then, he snorted, shoulders hunched as he almost doubled over in laughter.

"Couldn't even impersonate him, huh?" he murmured, and all of sudden his posture changed—arrogant and confident now—while his voice dropped a register lower, sounding too dangerous and cruel for Caitlin's comfort.

When he looked up again, there were no veils that hid his eyes. Caitlin has seen those exact look in so many others—the villains that she has fought or helped her friends fought. Those eyes carried the soul of a man that has been roughen over the years, the ones that has seen and suffered so many, that has faced the hate and lived within it that they ended up sounding like they hated the world and wanted to watch the world burn at their feet.

"What tip me off, snow kitten?"

As alarming as this revelation was, Caitlin remained cool and simply gave him another smile.

She survived seeing a villain with her best friend's face terrorizing the city. She could deal with this one.

She even wondered if Ollie would be proud of her for managing to keep calm and able to relax against her own chair while in the presence of a potentially dangerous meta.

"Did you steal this face like Koh…," Caitlin hummed, eyes flashed white as she channelled Frost's raw strength—a warning to him that she wasn't as defenceless as the name he called her—all the while leaning into his space. "….or you're like Hannibal Bates? Taking people's faces by simply touching them?"

To her internal frustration, the only reaction she received from him was the slight amused quirk of his brow as his gaze flickered to her hair.

"Amazing," he murmured, sounding strangely like Barry—the impressed authoritative tone the surgeon often used early during their relationship—as his hand reached out to the tip of her bi-colour hair. "You're both, neither Frost nor Caitlin, but an equal combination of both. How did you do it?"

The hair at the back of her neck raised as goose bumps erupted all over her body. She could literally feel statics grazing every inch of her exposed skin the closer she was to him. How could he even do that? All of the previous speedsters have to move to create statics, but he didn't even budge from his seat. It was like the air particles were moving for him to create this suffocating environment.

"Practice," she forced a smile, determined to not panic. "A dear friend once told me that we're the same, that the differences between Frost and Caitlin was a mere illusion, that I have to embrace both sides…," Caitlin tripped over her words near the end, the worry over Barry finally struck her. "So, we try to balance both sides at the same time."

God. What the heck has this imposter done to Barry?

"You're doing great," he nodded thoughtfully, brushing her hair in the way that only Barry Allen ever done to her and tucked it behind her ear. "And I applaud your attempt to look intimidating. You're giving your best effort, kitten. Simply wonderful, though there are room for improvement."

That comment struck a nerve in Caitlin.

He then let out a soft gasp when a thin sheet of ice formed over his cheek, a generous courtesy of the irritated Frost.

"Can you say that again? A little bit louder, please," Caitlin said all too sweetly, light-heartedly taunting him though her voice edged with the cocky tone of Frost.

 _We're getting better at balancing,_ Frost thought, pleased with herself.

 _We still couldn't be in control at the same time, though,_ sulked Caitlin.

 _An improvement is an improvement_ , _Caity._

 _Head in the game, Frost. Things could easily go Titanic if we didn't focus._

"So," she said, grasping the man's wrist, effectively stopping him from touching his frozen cheek. "Where is my friend? Where is the _real_ Barry Allen?"

He had the balls to smirk at her.

"I don't know," he shrugged nonchalantly. "You didn't put a tracker on him?"

Caitlin allowed herself to be a bit more ruthless and grasped his wrist tighter, her hair lost the balance she has tried to keep as she felt Frost emerged from her subconscious, the ominous wisp of white mist slowly encased the imposter's arm. His brows shot up to his hairline when Frost completely took control, the curl of his lips was sultry when he shifted his head to plant gentle kiss over her knuckles—his lips was blazing hot against her skin.

Frost took only a split second to manoeuvre him around, pinning the taller man face-down onto the control table, all the while keeping her frozen grip on his wrists as she restrained him.

She was expecting some form of retaliation.

She wasn't expecting the quickened breathing and the wild gasping that looked very much like the onset of a panic attack. The ominous crackling of lightnings that made all the appliances in the cortex seemed to suffer sudden epilepsy were something that she did not expect too.

This was a bad sign all over.

"Let. Go."

She visibly flinched at the raw anger in his voice and the violent crackles of lightnings in his eyes. Though, she tightened her grip on him, letting her cold mist seeped out to cuff his wrists as she whispered back, channelling enough of her own rage to match his.

"Not until I know that my friend is safe."

The wild gaze he shot at her made it seemed like he was already plotting a thousand ways to kill her.

And she had the hunch that he would've done so if only she wasn't pulled away from the speedster by the very man she was internally worrying over. Barry—hopefully the real one—held a hand to keep her in place as he helped the imposter up and gently wrapped his fingers around the freezing ones. Frost watched in confusion when Barry murmured inaudible words to the panicked man, keeping his fingers wrapped tight around the digits that Frost has frozen. It seemed like he was encouraging the speedster to phase out of the ice cuff—and when he did, the cuff fell onto the floor with a loud clang. Barry kicked the cuff away and continued consoling the speedster, though, he did lift his head just enough to stare at Frost; his gaze briefly flickered to the case where they put their sedatives. He gave a little nod to Frost, mouthing for her to be ready should they needed the sedatives.

"Hey, hey…," she heard him murmured soothingly, and the realisation hit her when Barry planted his palms over the other man's cheeks, all the while murmuring softly; "…you're safe. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you. There is no need to fight. No need to fight…"

Shit. This was the man who often turned defensively violent as he retreated to a mind state where he was convinced that everyone was out to hurt him.

And she just had to pin him down and forcefully restrain him—the very action that probably triggered this panic.

 _We make a bad call_ , Caitlin chirped, though there was denying the slight guilt and worry that stemmed from her side of the mind.

 _That we did_ , Frost agreed, inching a bit closer to the sedatives should the situation called for it.

It took a solid five minutes of watching Barry murmuring the same thing over and over again when the speedster seemed to finally calm down from whatever murderous rage he was feeling. He nudged Barry away with an annoyed scowl on his face, causing Barry to beam in response, and Frost instantly relaxed upon seeing the familiar warm sunshine smile.

"Not going to snap, kid," the speedster grumbled, refusing the hug Barry so openly offer. "She simply took me off guard."

Frost crossed her arms over her chest and gave her best smug smile at him when he glared at her.

He deserved her reaction, despite the panic she unintentionally unleashed.

"For the record, I think you have this coming," Barry retorted, patting the speedster's shoulders gently before turning around to face Caitlin with an apologetic smile. "I'm very sorry for whatever he had done or said to you, Frost," his eyes made that adorable puppy thing again, and Frost was instantly calmed, cracking a smile when he leaned closer to whisper conspiringly at her. "Told ya that he is terribly immature."

"I heard that, brat."

Barry turned around, the infamous irritated scowl was plastered on his face again. "Good. Because I need you to hear that. The hell are you doing threatening my friends?"

"You didn't tell me that the doctor you partnered with to help me is the _Frost_."

"Not my secret to tell," Barry sighed, staring at Frost again, and this time the guilt was evident in his expression. "I'm sorry. I don't know how he knew of your secret identity," he apologized profusely, looking much like a kicked puppy that even if Frost wanted to be angry at him, her anger would've been smothered in mere seconds.

"Photoshop. Google. Educated guess. Not in that particular order but it was easy to guess and easier to make she confirm it," the speedster scowled, walking up towards them and by then did Frost finally noticed the slight differences in the brothers' physique.

Despite their strangely identical faces, the older man has a better form—wider shoulders, sturdier frame, literally one-inch taller than Barry, and upon shedding his jacket, Frost noted that he has more sculpted arms than Barry too.

 _Does 'steaming hot and sexy' run in their genetics?_

 _Frost, NO._

 _What the hell, Cait?_

Caitlin pulled a quick run-through of all the times Barry has ever talked about his supposedly dangerous half-brother before letting out a sigh that could have been the most exasperated sigh in mental arguments history.

 _Things almost went Titanic on us, we just barely dodge the disaster…and you're already ogling our iceberg._

 _Hey, **that** iceberg can give Ollie a run for his money._

 _FROST._

Caitlin groaned loudly in their shared subconscious, prompting a gleeful smile from Frost's own lips. She shifted her attention to the brothers, slightly surprised that even with the raw power she felt leaking out of the older man, Barry was still able to look dangerously angry as he engaged in what it looked like an aggressive whispering contest between the two.

It was almost hilarious to see Barry's exasperated scowl when the older between the two shouldered past him to stand in front of Frost.

"Sorry for the scare, doc," he hummed, cracking a smile that by now Frost was convinced as the Allen's trademark smile. He offered his hand then, beaming brightly as he introduced himself. "Matthew Thawne."

"Frost," she resisted the urge to comment about his abnormally hot hand, but instead schooled her face to a professional smile. "Caitlin Snow when I'm not so snowy."

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze flickered to her snowy white hair. "Sorry again," his smile was sheepish, though he didn't seem like he was really sorry for his actions. "I was just curious if I was right about your secret identity. Little brother has his mouth sewn shut about you,"

"You could've asked nicely," she smiled back, a bit intrigued at the sudden shift of his personality—he seemed a bit harmless and warm now, much like how Barry usually act. "Provoking me was not the wisest idea."

Maybe he was just really good actor and the danger she saw in his eyes earlier was an act?

He briefly touched the freckles of ice on his cheek and quirked a smile. "Yeah, that was stupid."

" _Very_ stupid, _"_ Barry loudly agreed.

"Reckless is a better term," he shrugged, his lips forming a smirk that hinted that the danger Frost felt from him before was very much _real_ , though the teasing glint in his eyes was as harmless as Barry's. "I love danger," he grinned and gave Frost a quick once-over. "And I do find dangerous girl attractive."

Barry dropped the case he was holding.

"WHAT THE HELL, MATT."

That was the first time Frost ever seen Barry looking genuinely scandalized.

Therefore, she decided to play along.

"Do you enjoy getting hurt?" she purred, trailing one painted finger over the flaking ice of the man's cheek. "Are you _that_ masochist, _Matty_?"

She was completely ignoring the horrified shriek of Caitlin in their shared subconscious and the disbelieving look on Barry's face.

Matthew's gaze flickered just briefly towards the-still-gaping-in-utter-shock-and-disbelief Barry before his smirk widened, the mischievous urge glinted in his eyes as he leant into her personal space, standing way too close for comfort.

"That depends," he hummed, so close to her that she could make out the freckles of dark blue in his green eyes and the statics that he seemed to naturally discharge. "You're a sadist, doc?"

Frost might grow fondness for this man after all. He played her game and enjoyed it.

Caitlin wanted to adopt Savvi, so Frost can totally adopt Matthew. There. Fair and square. They both have a personal favourite when it came to Barry's half-brothers.

Thus, she shrugged casually, curled her lips in a sultry smile and purred almost too sensually to the man; "Only half of the time."

"Oh?" Matthew cocked an eyebrow, leaning even closer to her. "What about the other half?"

How traumatized Barry would be if Frost get rid of the little distance between them and kissed his older brother? You know, for purely scientific purpose. She has never kiss Zoom when he was using his superspeed.

His blazing hot palm curved around her cheek and she was so tempted to test his speed.

"ALRIGHT, YOU TWO STOP RIGHT THERE!"

That came from both outside and inside her mind.

Frost was instantly pulled back into their shared subconscious as Caitlin resurfaced. Caitlin stepped back, creating a generous distance between her and Matthew. She rubbed her cheek, unable to shake the heat of his palm away from her skin, and if her face felt hot because of that, or she really blushed in frustration at Frost's mischievousness, she didn't want to know.

"Ah, it was going so well," Matthew sounded genuinely disappointed, which make Caitlin even more embarrassed to meet his eyes. "You're such a brat, Barry."

"Stop harassing my friends!" Barry fumed, and Caitlin couldn't help but internally cooed—the surgeon's 'little brotherness' seemed to come out as he berated his older brother.

"Not a harassment when she played along," Matthew hummed, tipping his head back to wink very suggestively at Caitlin. "Hello to you, Dr. Snow."

Barry was never as sensually smooth as Matthew.

"Why are you like this?" Barry grumbled, looking genuinely traumatised and scandalised. "Why are you even here? Why did you follow me here? You're good. The drug is working, what else do you want? Go back home, brother," he whimpered, waving the amused older man away. "Shoo, brother, shoo. Go home."

"What am I? Little chicks that you can shoo away just like that?"

"Go home. For fuck's sake, stop this embarrassment."

That was actually pretty cute, Caitlin wasn't going to lie.

 _Make sense that he wanted to skip town and visit his hidden family after the ice-witch debacle._ Frost commented, a sense of fondness spread from her side of the mind as Caitlin stared at the brothers' interaction. _They're a fun bunch._

 _He looks more relaxed now_ , Caitlin agreed, remembering the angry man she saw in Frost's memories from a few days ago and this cutely grumbling man in front of her. _Family really did great on his mental well-being._

 _Typical siblings' dynamic. Asshole older brother, uptight middle child and adorably shy youngest brother,_ Frost mused, cracking into a manic cackle in their shared subconscious _._ _Matt and Len would bond so well._

"I should've poisoned you while I can," Barry grumbled, shifting his face just slightly from the control table to cast a glare to Matthew. "Make you overdosed or something…."

"That's a third-degree murder," Matthew piped back, very casually resting his arm over Barry's head. "You're supposed to save lives, not take it."

The brothers exchanged a weird look—Barry was scowling while Matthew was grinning knowingly at him. The exchange made Caitlin has this distinct hunch that the brothers were exchanging an inside joke that she didn't understand.

"Jerk," Barry was the first to look away, staring angrily at the keyboard and sulked in silence.

 _I think the asshole trait is a dominant trait in all big brothers._

Caitlin couldn't even argue with Frost. Not when Matthew rested his chin over his palm, successfully using the top of Barry's head as his armrest.

 _We should never allow Matt meet Len. Ever_ , Caitlin stated, already imagining the chaos that would ensue if Len has a good speedster ally (for once!) to tease both his younger sister and their resident doctor.

 _I disagree._

 _Frost, imagine the chaos._

 _What's wrong with chaos?_

Caitlin couldn't help but feel that if she and Frost were actual sisters with separate physical bodies, Frost would have founded the Legion of Asshole Older Siblings with Matt and Len.

Thank fuck that Frost was just her alternate personality and Caitlin was an only child.

"Why are you even here?" Barry huffed, struggling to wriggle his head free from being Matthew's armrest, but the older must have been strong, because Barry's effort was completely useless.

"Wanna meet my doctor and personally thank her for my wonderful recovery," the older man hummed, winking flirtatiously at Caitlin again. "Thanks a lot for your effort, Dr. Snow."

"Alright," Barry growled, finally able to wriggle free from his unsightly fate of being an armrest. "You've already met and thanked her. Now, why don't you run back home?"

"No," Matt grinned, now wrapping his arms around Barry's shoulders, successfully stopping the doctor from sulking away. "I'm staying for a few days."

" _Matthew_."

" _Bartholomew_."

Barry scowled. "Don't call me with that ugly name."

Matthew merely shrugged and ruffled Barry's hair. Caitlin's interest was peaked when the older man sighed softly—his whole body seemed to relax, his expression softened a bit as his arms slipped lower around Barry's ribs for a quick hug before he promptly backed away like the hug didn't even happen. The speedster looked away, avoiding meeting anyone's gaze as he shoved his hands into his jeans' pockets.

"I'm staying with you until after they exhume her," he said softly, tipping his head just enough for Caitlin to see the fleeting smile on his face before he shifted his gaze back to the walls.

Caitlin felt her heart melted.

That was so thoughtful of him. Matthew came all the way here to Central, despite knowing the probability of him snapping and lose control as the stress of city life caught up to him (that was the reason Barry didn't live with his half-brothers here in Central after all), despite the chances of losing his own sanity—the older man still came to support Barry when the doctor needed moral support the most.

 _Okay, that was pretty sweet._

Caitlin subconsciously nodded to Frost's comment, feeling her chest warmed a bit at the positive feels this whole situation emitted to her solitary heart. She was alone with a team that didn't trust her to be able to control herself, therefore this sweet sibling supports she witnessed from the brothers was like a soothing balm to her literally frozen heart.

Distracted with the 'sweetness' of the situation, Caitlin completely missed the disbelieving glare Barry was giving to Matthew and the cruel smirk that the older man shot back to the livid doctor.

Sometimes, ignorance was bliss.

* * *

They should've won awards for this.

That was what Barry thought when he saw how smitten Caitlin was with Flash's acting and how easily the hero believed the impromptu skit Barry had to put up to explain Flash's sudden appearance here.

He should've expected this.

With Savitar conveniently in hiding, Killer Frost threatening to freeze a very vital part of his anatomy and Deathstorm was shipped to Asia to check on their underlings there—it was obvious who the Flash would bother to ease his growing boredom.

It was Barry. Poor human Barry of a parallel universe who didn't even has a sliver of winning chance against the sadistic speedster.

And for records, that was the first and last time Barry was ever going to play the role of frustrated younger brother. He could sense the smitten heart of Caitlin Snow, could almost hear the internal coos of the woman over his cuteness when she observed the skit he has spontaneously orchestrated.

That wasn't him. He was not cute. He was a psychopathic serial killer. No one should look at him and equate him with 'cute' or any words that carry the similar meaning.

Though, that was the best he could come up with on the spot—the best he could conjure in that dangerous moment he walked into the cortex and saw how close his doppelganger was to losing control.

Dude, not even Savitar dared to pin the Flash with his face down against any surface (and the scarred speedster was the one whom the Flash trusted the most), moreover to cuff the man and rendered him helpless. That was like the biggest no-no on Dark Earth, the number one rule for everyone who valued their life.

The last thing you wanted to do was to trigger the Flash's deep-set trauma and unleash the speedster's violent defence mechanism.

"They really trusted you," Flash whispered, the vibration of his voice made it clear that he was suppressing a laughter. "Holy shit. How did you make these lambs trusted a vile wolf like you?"

"Oscar-winning acting skill," Barry mumbled back, pointedly not looking at his doppelganger that was posing as his older half-brother.

Wherever in the hell did the name 'Matthew Thawne' came from anyway? Was that a multiverse inside joke?

But serious talk though, Barry deserved an award for best actor. He has the whole city fooled with his acts. He demanded an award.

"A nice speedster for once…," Cisco trailed, the awe was evident in his voice as he gave Flash an appraising once-over look. "And damn, you actually have the build of a superhero."

Was it Barry or it felt slightly disturbing to see Cisco checking out his doppelganger—the alternate version of his own self?

And for the nth record of the day, the Flash wasn't even that much bigger from Barry. The speedster only seemed bigger because his shoulder was a bit wider, arms a little bit more sculpted and he stood a little bit taller and more arrogant since he was so used to intimidating people to grovel by his feet. That's all. Flash was the warmongering dictator of Dark Earth while Barry was the humble kind-hearted doctor of his very peaceful Earth. One was a position that demanded submission while the other was humbly bowing to help others—it was perfectly normal that the way they stand was different and it affected the way their heights looked like to other people.

Point was, they were practically the same size, but Cisco was still eyeing Flash like he wanted to eat the speedster alive.

(In a completely non-cannibalistic way, of course).

Which was even more disturbing now that Barry thought of it.

"Dude, I have been waiting for this," Cisco started to ramble, visibly buzzing in energy. "I mean, like, Len doesn't want a supersuit and the rest of the heroes of the team are girls, so I have been waiting for so long to make a suit for a male hero," he popped his lollipop out, pointing the sweet sticky end in Flash's direction. "Please tell me that you're staying here and join our team?"

"Look at the nerd goes…," Lisa teased, though Barry couldn't help but wince when she too, was checking out his doppelganger.

The way her gaze lingered a bit too long on the stretch of Flash's tight slim fit shirt told Barry that Cisco wasn't the only one who was distracted with the speedster's radiation-induced physique.

"Lise, you don't understand…," Cisco bounced, grinning excitedly. "A speedster that isn't trying to kill us. This is such a nice change!"

Barry would've pointed out that Flash would be all too happy to kill all of them if only that revelation wouldn't put him in a questionable position.

"You didn't even ask him if he wanted to join…," Lisa mused, and Barry was so tempted to ask Flash to wear his jacket back because it was disturbing to watch the older woman eye-raping his own doppelganger. "Not that I would mind. We could use an extra set of power."

Cisco clicked his tongue. "Who doesn't want to be a superhero?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Barry was again tempted to point at the Flash. The speedster was a hero once, and now has vowed to never return to the path of heroics again.

So, yeah. There were some people who didn't want to be a superhero. In fact, Flash was actively avoiding everything that might drag him back to the path of heroics.

"Cisco, he can't," to Barry's luck, Caitlin has taken the initiative to stop the excited scientist from hoping too much. "He isn't…," she hesitated, shooting a look in Barry's direction.

"Matt is mentally unstable," Barry quickly picked up her explanation, giving his best comforting smile to the disappointed scientist. "Sorry Cisco, but I don't think his mental health allowed him to be part of the team."

"Ouch, brother," Flash mocked a hurtful tone, placing a hand dramatically teasing over his chest. "Can you be any crueller to me?"

"Truth hurts," Barry chirped, reaching a hand to pat Flash's upper arm like the good-natured younger sibling he was supposed to act as. "I'm sorry, _Matty_."

"Breaks my heart right there, Bear," Flash whimpered, sounding convincingly heartbroken that made Barry flinched when Cisco, Lisa and Caitlin shot a reprimanding look at him.

Fucking hell. How exactly he was the bad guy now when Flash was evidently the worst out all of reincarnations of Barry Allen that he has personally met.

"I think we need to get some quality rest at home," he smiled to the team, keeping his grip on Flash's shirt as he dragged the older man out. "I'm tired from the travel, and he needed a proper sleep to maintain his sanity."

With that, he bid quick goodnights to the team, grabbed his suitcase and left the cortex without another word. He only released the Flash once they were far enough from the hearing range of the team. He wanted to end this meeting as quick as possible so that he could has a serious unfiltered talk with the Flash in the privacy of his lair.

"Run us home, _now_."

Flash rolled his eyes but complied to the request anyway.

The nausea from being zipped from one place to another was inevitable—especially after that heavy dinner he had not an hour ago—so by the time they arrived in his lair, Barry was fighting his throat to keep his dinner in his stomach. He took a few seconds to recover, feeling the weight of Flash's amused gaze on his back as he relied on his table to support his body.

"You wouldn't be nauseated if you could run as fast, you know?"

Barry held a finger in the speedster's direction, making sure that he first swallowed the bile that threatened to lurch out of his throat before he retorted;

"Not going to be your guinea pig, _Matthew_."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Flash grumbled, striding towards Barry in three large steps. "Offer still stands, though."

It would've warmed Barry's heart when his doppelganger gently massaged the back of his neck, but this was the Flash, and everyone knew that each of the speedster's action has a reason or some sort of catch. Flash wasn't massaging his throat out of the pure non-existent goodness of his heart.

"What the hell are you doing here, Flash?" Barry snapped the moment he regained his bearing back, arms crossed as he glared at his doppelganger.

"Bored," the speedster made a show of an exaggerated yawn. "Everyone is busy. There is no more resistant force to kill…and I couldn't find Savitar, so I thought I'd bother you."

Barry hated how blatant the speedster was.

"Is killing Frost in your anti-boredom checklist too?"

"Not really," Flash hummed, his lips curled to a somewhat fond smile. "That was…unexpected," the fond smile grew into a manic grin in matters of seconds. "What an interesting woman you coveted, Ripper."

"I do not—" Barry instantly denied but was cut off before he could even start.

"Oh, did you not?" the Flash smiled, head tipped in a way that reminded Barry of a curious cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. "You're awfully protective of her…," he pondered, lips quirked to a taunting smirk. "Not that I don't understand. Even Savitar has once had a rendezvous with a doppelganger of hers."

How would you respond to that?

"Anyway, I thought you would appreciate my presence here," the Flash remarked, striding across the room towards the glass display. He phased a hand through the glass to grab Barry's mask, running his fingers along the golden lining thoughtfully. "You promised that child something…," he nodded in the direction of the door that lead to the place Barry was working on Lucy. "It might be easier with my interference," he smirked, and all of sudden he was towering over Barry, gently placing the mask in Barry's hand. "Go as Ripper. Heal them as Scarlet Ripper—make them remember you as you tore their hearts out. Make them know that their recovery was at the expense of their sister's life."

Barry cocked an eyebrow. Yes, it would be much easier to fix the siblings if he had the Flash's powers in his side. Either he has Flash kidnapped the teenagers from their hospital bed so that Barry could conduct a reparative surgery on both of them as an honour to his promise to Lucy; or he could do the kidnapping himself—something that he wasn't so confident in. He usually has his victims willingly came with him, not kidnapped from hospital beds.

It was such a tempting proposal from the speedster, but...

"What's the catch?" Barry asked, not even hiding his distrust.

"A good laid?" the Flash joked, the tone of his voice was teasing and he immediately broke to a laugh when Barry rolled his eyes. "The goodness of mankind?" he shuddered violently, as if the mere notion of the idea itself was disgusting to him. "I don't have any specifics in mind."

Barry scowled. "Isn't that so comforting coming from you..."

"Okay, fine. Consider that it is my payment for the show tomorrow," the speedster decided, looking so pleased with himself. "I have seen Joseph West's anguish when I killed my Iris. I have seen his horror when he woke up from mind-control and realised that he has murdered his own daughter. And that one time when I pitted them against each other—that one was such a wonderful show," the Flash hummed happily, seeming like he was lost in good memories.

Yep. There it was. The real reason the Flash left his position as the absolute power of his world. It was because the speedster wanted to witness the pain on everyone's face when the CCPD dug up Iris' grave, only to found nothing inside.

Iris' preserved corpse now resided in Barry's lab on Dark Earth as a wall ornament.

They won't find anything in the grave tomorrow.

"You know, Ripper? I have yet to see West's reaction when he realised that her daughter has turned evil. I have never thought of that plot before," the Flash cackled, seeming like he was brimming in excitement. "This time, it would be a unique show."

Barry wondered how many universes out there has become the stage of the Flash's favourite show—The Tragedy of Iris West.

"….It would be a better show if we have guest appearance…," the Flash murmured to himself, as he started to pace—his speed gradually grew as he spoke. "Yes…that would be a wonderful. Should we have extras too? Or a splash of gore and action…?"

Barry decided to stop listening in to his doppelganger right then. It wasn't like he would understand anything soon, considering the Flash's pacing has grown in speed, causing the older man to gradually turn into a blur of silhouette that was pacing back and forth across the room. Barry was in no way able to understand speed-talk despite being the doppelganger of the speedster, so he might as well gave up from trying to listen to his doppelganger's plotting.

Pointedly ignoring the pacing blur, Barry hacked into the database of the hospital Lucy's stepsiblings were admitted to and proceeded to search for their files.

He needed to do his homework on them if he was ever going to hold his end of the promise he made to Lucy.

After all, he was brought up to be a man of his words.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter didn't go as planned. I was planning to reveal the fate of Lucy and her stepsiblings inside this one, but the minor events kept squirming their way in, thus making this chapter went far longer than intended. So, I cut it to half. I have larger plan involving Rod and Emmy; since Flash would interfere more than Barry thought while 'fixing' those kids, so their roles needed to be explored a bit beyond the surface. Flash even has hinted it throughout the last few chapters, but more obviously in this one.**

 **And the Flash totally has some loose screws in his head.**

 **Anddd...the teddy bear was the hint for incoming fluff chapter that may come when this story progressed into Christmas event. I think we need a break from this insanity that has escalated with the story's plot.**

 **P/s: I'm totally in love with Steve Rogers now, so anyone wanna see Detective Rogers taking the case as Joe's partner? I originally wanted to use an OC, but heck Captain America is easily loveable.**


	12. Art

**A/N: Un-betaed. May or may not be edited later. There was a description of morbid art and implied rape and violence. Hints of child abuse if you squint really tight. Proceed with caution.**

* * *

"You gotta be kidding me….."

Flash jerked his head up upon hearing that comment, hand stopped mid-digging the sugary snack as he shot a grin at Barry. "You want some?" he asked, offering the huge bowl to his doppelganger.

"Are you kidding me?!" Barry hissed, shoving the older man behind the tree and was terribly grateful that Flash didn't resist any more than simply cocked an amused brow to him. " _Popcorn?"_ He glared at the huge bowl of what he could dub as bowl-of-diabetes-and-instant-death that was nestled in Flash's arms.

"It's not an unhealthy snack for me, Ripper. High metabolism, remember?"

"That is not the problem, asshole!"

This was insane.

They were about to exhume Iris' grave and Flash literally brought a huge bowl of popcorn as if he was about to watch a really engrossing blockbuster movie.

Flash tipped his head to the side, looking adorably confused and clueless. "If you want, I can run real quick and get something that your metabolism can handle….?"

Barry blinked in disbelief.

"You're insane."

" _Duh_."

Barry kept one hand pressed over Flash's chest, wanting to hold the speedster in place despite knowing that Flash could easily get out of his hold if the man wanted to, and ducked his head around the tree to peek a quick look at the rest of the gathering.

No one has noticed them yet—being conveniently hidden by the shadows of the trees and bushes—so that was a good thing.

Captain Singh was the nearest to Iris' grave, chatting up seriously with a tall blonde man that Barry has never seen in CCPD before. A few feet from the captain, the workers who were responsible to exhume the grave were busy digging, while Caitlin and Wally hovered as close as they could to the site—both of them looking anxious and teetering with nervous energy. Joe was surprisingly standing the farthest from the site, hunched to himself as he looked like he was almost at the verge of losing his mind.

Barry exhaled a relieved breath, his shoulders sagged, and the nervous blood no longer rang in his ears.

"Finish that off," Barry instructed, nodding to the diabetes bowl. "Like, right _now_ , before anyone notices us," he sighed when Flash cocked a disbelieving brow. "Humour me, _please_. Explaining you to Singh would be a hassle as it is…," he winced as his gaze landed on the captain, only to feel a chill travelled down his spine.

The blonde man who previously was chatting with Singh was watching them with scrutinizing gaze.

"He would be harder to fool," Flash commented, keeping his face straight towards Barry, though his eyes darted very subtly to the side in the direction of the blonde man. "Not sure is he is the same with his doppelgangers, but that guy is persistent either way. You need to up your game, Rip. The newcomer will be a challenge."

Barry rolled his eyes. "And you're aren't helping. At all."

Flash returned the gesture with a beaming grin.

"It's an older brother's responsibilities to make the baby siblings' life miserable."

"I'm disowning you," Barry scowled, finally removing his hand from his doppelganger's chest. "Like, right now. Disowned. You're no longer a part of the family."

"Awwh," Flash pouted, feigning disappointment. "Baby brother, how could you—"

"Eat your popcorn. _Now_ ," Barry ordered, stern and firm.

Dealing with his insane superpowered doppelganger was very much like dealing with a hyperactive immature child. He needed to be firm in his words if he wanted any chance of the older man to attempt to listen to him. He nodded to the popcorn bowl, a silent push for the speedster to finish it off before anyone asked why the hell he brought popcorns to supposedly solemn gathering of exhuming a dead woman. Flash rolled his eyes but thankfully obliged without any argument.

Though, that didn't stop Barry from grimacing and wincing when the speedster cleaned the popcorn bowl off in mere seconds.

"That…is…," he started, but then completely lost his words.

As someone who literally counted every nutrients and calories he put in his meals (with exclusive exception of his cupcakes—because, _come on_ Jitters have the best cupcakes), Barry felt really uncomfortable watching his doppelganger cleaned off the caramel-and-chocolate-and-god-knows-what-sugary-shit-he-put-in-that-popcorn in matters of seconds. Just watching that has made Barry wanting to cut sugar from his diet for a full 3 months. He felt diabetic by simply watching that.

"Are you gentlemen supposed to be here?"

Both versions of Barry Allen turned towards the speaker, and both promptly plastered their identical sunshine smile on their faces. Barry wasn't sure if that was a wise idea—because identical twins with wide beaming smile at the graveyard sounded like a scene out of horror movie rather than a common sight—but smiling was a habit he couldn't break.

The blonde man frowned at them, brows furrowing closer and closer together as he shifted his gaze from Barry to Flash and back to Barry again.

If the guy was as sharp as Flash described, Barry assumed that he would be suspicious of how identical Barry and Flash looked like. Not even twins would have the degree of likeliness like doppelgangers would have—and Dr. Bartholomew Henry Allen was a well-known public figure, therefore the idea of him having a twin was unheard of.

"We were invited," Barry responded with a smile. "I was Iris'—"

"Boyfriend, am I right?" the man cut him off, lips curled to a tight smile. "I read newspaper," he said, shifting his gaze towards Flash. "Though, I think not everything made it into tabloids…who are you again?"

"Matthew Thawne," Flash responded, shifting a bit so that he was slightly behind Barry, looking genuinely intimidated. "I'm…," he trailed, shooting a glance towards Barry with a look of desperation.

Well, colour Barry impressed. The Flash looked convincingly innocent and intimidated for once.

"My half-brother," Barry took the cue, his lips curled to a grimace, displaying an open discomfort like any other normal person would have in this kind of situation—you know, that discomfort normal people would have when a family scandal was revealed.

"Half-brother?"

It didn't take genius to notice that the lies weren't going to fly easy this time.

Barry hated attentive sceptics.

"My father was hard-pressed in avoiding scandals," Barry shuddered, slinging one arm around Flash's shoulder and pulled the man closer. "But I need the support of a family during times like this."

The blonde man stared at Barry for what it felt like an eternity-worth of five seconds, seeming like he was trying to unmask Barry's façade—and it did feel like that, like Barry was being read and his lies being stripped off him.

The last time he felt like this was a few days before that fight which lead to Iris' untimely murder.

Barry _really_ hated attentive sceptics…

"Of course," the man finally responded, though the suspicion didn't leave his eyes at all. "Pardon me for the rudeness."

"It's fine," Barry waved nonchalantly, though he internally winced at the tensed edge of his own voice.

It was easy to overpower Iris, considering that Barry has the advantage in term of his physical strength over her; and when his strength was the disadvantage like when it was with Tony, his sharp mind gave him the upper hand.

But this guy seemed that he would be hard to trap and even harder to overpower, should the situation required Barry to ensure his immediate termination.

There was a gentle squeeze on his wrist, and Barry held back the surprise from making it to his face as he felt the subtle vibration of Flash's thumb grazing along his wrist. It was as close to a soothing reprimanding touch as he could get from his insane doppelganger.

 _Keep calm._

That message was clear even if Flash didn't voice it out.

The blonde man then smiled a genuine smile and offered his hand towards Barry. "Steve Rogers," he said, watchful eyes remained fixed on Barry's own. "It's an honour to finally meet you, Dr. Allen. Your contribution to the community is admirable."

"It's the least I can do," Barry tipped his head humbly, taking the offered hand in a firm handshake. "You're new to CCPD?" he asked, honestly curious because he was sure that he has never seen this man on the force before.

"No," Steve responded in a heartbeat, shoulders straight as he clasped his hands in front of him like it was an automated movement. "I was sent here to help out with the situation."

Barry took a moment to ponder on the reasons a personnel from military would be doing here.

But he knew that whatever it was, it would make his night job even tougher than it usually was.

He fully blamed his dramatic villainous friends for this.

"It was that bad, huh?" Barry cocked an eyebrow, removing his hand from Flash's shoulder and kept his hands at his sides instead. "For the military to interfere."

Steve's eyes widened for a split second before they crinkled with the same amusement of his smile. "You're a sharp man, Dr. Allen."

"It's rather obvious, sir," Barry responded, keeping his perfectly harmless smile on his face as Steve stared at him with that scrutinizing gaze again.

It was like hide and seek—one was hiding his true colours behind layers of lies while the other sought to unveil the lies.

"Captain Rogers," Singh interrupted their silent staring contest, nodding towards the military officer and shot a wary look towards Flash. "They are about bring the coffin out."

"Of course," Steve nodded, automatically taking the lead back to the site. "Dr. Allen, Mr. Thawne," he addressed with a smile. "Shall we?"

Singh seemed to be torn in between asking about _Mr. Thawne_ or just remained silent.

Barry, on the other hand, chose the latter. He was supposed to act anxious about the exhume, therefore he shouldn't even notice Singh's curiosity, let alone to concern himself with the captain's unspoken questions. Overexplaining would be suspicious when he was supposed to act innocent after all.

It was uncomfortable silence throughout the small walk, with occasional curious glances from Singh towards Flash's direction. The captain finally relaxed a bit when Cisco waved enthusiastically at Flash, and the speedster waved back with a good-natured smile.

Ironic that there was deep-set hatred in those cold green eyes.

"Has the heroes provided any statements regarding this situation, Captain Singh?" Steve asked as they made their way to the site.

Flash very subtly hid a snort behind a fake cough, while Barry grimaced as Singh's gaze instantly flitted towards Caitlin.

The CCPD captain was not dumb. Although Caitlin said she never revealed her identity to anyone in CCPD, but Frost has talked with Singh before, and it would be impossible to not notice the resemblance between Caitlin and Frost.

 _Very subtle, Singh_ , Barry thought in pure annoyance. _Subtle_.

"Nothing so far," Singh said, clearing his throat once. "They are as clueless as we are."

"I see," Steve nodded thoughtfully. "But you know that these new metahuman are related to Ripper?"

"They were seen working together," Singh jerkily nodded. "I guess crazy attracts crazy in this city."

Barry wondered if it would be inappropriate to shove a whole packet of throat lozenges into Flash's mouth because the speedster really needed to stop using those fake coughs to hide his giggles. Period. It was suspicious. Barry was already convinced that Steve was on his trails and this did not help at all. He needed to put a limit to the Flash's craving for dramas and amusement before the speedster blew his cover.

"They're becoming a menace," Steve's lips curled into a grim smile. "7 deaths and 157 injured in the span of two days. That is a worrying record."

That halted Barry mid-track. _7 deaths?_ He was only aware of 5 of them.

 _When did Killer Frost kill the other two?_

" _The other two provoked Savitar_ ," Flash leaned close, as if he was reading Barry's mind, voice was barely audible.

" _What_?" Barry hissed, struggling hard to not break his composure.

Death by Savitar was not fun—not fun to the dead, not fun to the forensic, not fun to the funeral director, not fun to _anyone_.

" _Let's just say that saying you want to cream him in the back alley would not end well if you're not me._ "

The nonchalance and fondness in the Flash's voice only served to creep Barry out.

"I do not need that image," Barry muttered, stalking ahead of the speedster and plastered yet another fake smile when Captain Rogers raised an eyebrow in his direction. "That's too much…," he added, voice low as if he was talking to himself as he shook his head like he wanted to shake off an unwanted image from his mind, eyes convincingly wide in horror, "…terrifying."

Steve's eyes softened in sympathy and his smile was tentatively assuring when Barry looked up to meet his gaze.

"We will do everything necessary to make sure that this incident will not occur again, Dr. Allen," Steve's voice was oddly _ancient_ , like he was some sort of old sage trying to sooth the turbulence of the youngster's mind. "Rest assured that the public's safety is our top priority."

Barry cracked an unsure smile towards the military officer, before his attention was diverted to Joe who has noticed their arrival.

"Hey, son," the detective greeted, eyes softened in pure love despite the emotional turmoil he was currently experiencing. "Glad that you can be here," he murmured, embracing Barry in one quick hug.

"It will be fine, Joe," Barry murmured, voice muffled against the lapels of the detective's coat, eyes flickered to the way the Flash was leaning over the coffin with a barely concealed excitement. "Everything will be fine."

There was a beat of silence before Joe's shaky voice came out in a breathless whisper.

"What if she is not there, Bear?"

Barry stiffened, face fell to a complete poker face when his doppelganger looked up to meet his eyes.

"It will be fine," Barry smiled, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders when Flash's grin grew even more manic.

That grin alone just told him that shit was about to go down.

"There is this fountain that could revive dead people and turn them evil…It revived Arrow's ex and she came back as an evil killer," Joe rambled, sounding completely overwhelmed when Captain Rogers slipped in between the line of the workers—the officer seemed to want to lead the exhume himself. "What if—"

"On the count of three…," Steve remarked, loud and firm, hands on the lid of the coffin. "One…"

Barry shivered when a particularly freezing breeze tickled his cheek.

Joe didn't seem to notice though as he continued to ramble on with that soft broken voice. "What if they did that to Iris, Bear?"

"Two…," the lid cracked open with a gentle creak.

Barry saw Caitlin suddenly straightened up, her eyes narrowed in caution and he immediately knew the reason when there were dusts of snow spread from the coffin to the previously green healthy grass.

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck…._

Barry hated it when his doppelganger didn't include him in the planning.

He knew that Flash did it to get the most candid reaction out of him, but he hated it anyway.

"One."

Things went down in the span of the next five seconds.

White mists seeped out the crack of the coffin and promptly causing the workers to scram away, leaving Steve alone at the coffin. There was an explosion of white, and the military officer was blown away due to the impact the exact time the graveyard turned to snowy winterland.

There were screams, Barry was positive that one shriek of rage sounded like Caitlin, while the high-pitched one sounded like Cisco's and was that a chuckle…? _What the fuck, Flash—_

And all of sudden he was thrown onto the cold freezing ground with an unexpected weight straddling his chest.

"Hello, love."

Barry strained so hard to not break character and yell at these villains for their unnecessary needs for dramatics.

" _Iris_ ," he gritted out, grateful that her wavy hair has curtained his face from views because if he couldn't yell at her, he deserved to glare at her.

"Miss me, love?" she hummed, dark eyes glinted with sadistic pleasure when her cold hands trailed down his jaw to his shoulder. She leant to kiss his ear, voice was barely audible, yet her breath was numbing as she murmured, "…this is your doppelganger's idea, so yeah, yell at him later."

He briefly felt a tiny pinprick piercing the skin of his jugular, there was a numbing cold over his arm before there was a loud 'crack' and all that he felt afterwards were pure pain.

"BARRY!"

That yell came from at least three different voices.

Barry grunted, attempting to roll over and wriggle himself free, but Killer Frost's thighs were tightly caging his ribs, and her cold hands were still on the arm she has just effortlessly snap broken.

It wasn't as painful as he expected, but it still hurt nonetheless.

Barry groaned, eyes squeezed tight in the mix of annoyance and pain, internally lamenting on his rotten luck to have such dramatic friends who has zero courtesy of his well-being.

"Ma'am, stand down. You're outnumbered."

That calm, authoritative voice prompted Barry to open his eyes again—and he must have overestimated his own pain threshold because his sight was blurry before he had the senses to blink the pained tears away. It took him a few minutes of heavy gasping and grunting in pain to notice that the pain was dulling, like he was put on sedatives as the throbbing slowly turned to heavy numbness.

 _They planned this._

Barry tried so hard to not break into a resigned laugh.

Remind him again why he should be surprised? Flash addressed Joe using the detective's full name. Flash dressed up in the very same bloody suit that he wore the night his Iris betrayed him when he crashed her wedding, right after he broke out of prison. Flash declared a war against all of his former friends in the superhero community—the old-fashioned way, with a declaration demanding for surrender and all, and he even decapitated those heroes that he didn't turn to ashes and displayed their heads on spike like some deranged medieval warlord.

The speedster was a drama queen.

Remind Barry again why he should even be surprised?

He should've expected this kind of theatrics from his insane and bored doppelganger.

"Oh?" Killer Frost hummed, thighs still straddling Barry's ribs, lips curled to a mischievous smirk that was so _Iris_ that it made Barry felt that his heart was sliced thin and cooked raw. "But I'm the one with the hostage~"

Singh lowered his gun just slightly, but Caitlin's eyes remained white.

"Let him go," the hero hissed, stalking forward like a graceful predator, red hair slowly faded to white.

Steve, to his credits, wasn't even fazed when Caitlin openly transformed to Frost.

"Iris," she growled, voice softened a bit, almost like she was begging. "Please don't do this. We're friends."

Killer Frost's lips curled to a smirk as she forcefully yanked Barry up by the neck of his collar, the sudden yank had Barry to wince and hiss in pain. She noticed his pain, the curl of her smirk turned vicious as she leant closer—her nose nuzzled up his jugular, lips trailing kisses up his neck.

"As much as it annoyed me to fulfil your insane doppelganger's whimsical demands…," she nipped on his lobe, invoking a small shiver down his spine. "He had a point, darling."

"Wha—"

"You're irresistibly arousing when you're in pain."

He winced when cold teeth sunk gently into his skin, soft freezing lips was a pleasant pressure against his erratically pulsing jugular. He gasped and shivered, his good hand clutching his injured one when the numbness was replaced with absolute cold as thin sheet of frost coated his skin. Barry trembled, suddenly finding it hard to remain awake as the cold embraced him, and things were confusing for a moment—Caitlin was screaming, Steve was again demanding for surrender although this time there was urgency in his command, Singh was muttering something to the walkie-talkie he had, and Joe looked like somebody just killed his children right in front of his eyes.

"What kind of friend are you, Caity?" Killer Frost's voice sounded so much like Iris' that Barry struggle to remind himself that this was just an act, and Iris wasn't coming back from the dead to punish him. "You flirt with my man on the day of my funeral…."

Barry turned his head so fast to stare at Killer Frost's disguised face in disbelief. Her face betrayed nothing, as she remained in character, but there was a flicker of resignation in her dark eyes. Barry then shifted his gaze towards the far end of the group where Flash was sitting cross-legged with his face pressed to his knees, body trembling in what that seemed like fear.

Barry knew better. That was no fear.

That was pure amusement and glee.

Flash was having waaaay too much fun at everyone else's expanse.

"Iris—" Caitlin tried again, the guilt twisted to a frown on her face.

Barry hoped that no one noticed that Flash was on the verge of rolling in laughter because that was going to be hard to explain.

He gasped again, suddenly finding it hard to breathe—his chest felt cold, and the air felt thinner that his vision turned spotty as the drama went on, the voices gradually turned to buzzing white noise as the cold consumed his ability to remain conscious.

He was completely out of it when the gunfire started.

* * *

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

That saying was the best to sum up today's event.

It has been an immediate all-out battle when Dr. Allen collapsed—when Detective West shot the first shaky gunshot to his own resurrected daughter. It must have pained the man so, because he was begging and pleading to his daughter, tears streaking his cheeks as he tried to placate the revived reporter. It was of no use, though. Iris West was convinced that her best friend—who just happened to be Central City's hero—was having an affair with her boyfriend long before she was murdered.

If he wasn't there to witness their whole argument-slash-ice-battle-slash-gunfires, Steve would have thought that this whole mess was taken right out of some random chick flick action drama.

Things were so much simpler back in New York.

Only in Central you will have an enraged dead girlfriend coming back to life and seek vengeance on her former boyfriend. Only in Central City that this would happen, and everyone was perfectly okay in accepting it.

 _What the frick, Central City?_

"You're taking this well."

He shifted his gaze to his side and quirked a smile to . "I was told to prepare for the weird when I received my orders."

She made a humming noise of acknowledgement but said nothing more. The woman leaned against the glass panelling, her breath created thin sheets of ice on the surface, but she didn't seem to mind controlling her powers now. They were in private room of one of the many hospitals that the Allen's family has control over, therefore there wasn't much need for secrecy since the staffs cleared the whole wing of this particular floor for their big boss once Dr. Allen was rushed in. It resulted in something out of horror movie—such eerie calm and emptiness environment of the hospital was very unnerving and unsettling.

Steve never liked hospitals, moreover an empty one.

"He is a very influential man," he remarked, arms crossed tighter across his chest as if that would be enough to protect him from the cold eerie emptiness of the floor. "The staffs acted in split seconds."

"Well, he is practically their big boss," she snorted. "Their paycheck depends on him."

Her gaze then softened, looking almost regretful when it landed on Dr. Allen. Steve shifted his gaze towards the unconscious famous surgeon too and couldn't help but winced at how fragile and worn the man looked like.

It almost made him feel guilty for suspecting the good doctor for orchestrating this whole thing.

But coming from a special division specified in investigating nation's menace, Steve was trained to be suspicious of everyone. He was one of selected men from the military ranks, a spy within spies and when it came to his job description, he only answered to the peace of the nation. There was no formal leader in the special division, as all decisions were decided through discussion and agreement of all members—they were given the freedom to decide and was not tied to anyone. They were vigilantes in a way, but a heavily structured and trained one, with clear objectives and strict protocol to be followed.

If there was a threat to the peace, they would immediately dispatch their members to investigate it before deciding on which course of action to eliminate the threat.

Thus, he wasn't surprised at the revelation of Frost's identity because she was already on the file. He trusted her, having read of her contribution to the cause of peace and she was deemed worthy to be let alive. She and her allies have been alleviating some of their workloads with their vigilantism, hence Steve wasn't as repelled to the idea of working with her as opposed if it was Green Arrow that was involved. After all, his division was well-aware of the identity of the cities' famous enhanced vigilantes, the existence of parallel worlds and the time-travelling vigilantes.

Hence, how Scarlet Ripper could still remain a mystery was baffling.

The scarlet menace managed to piss off the whole intellectual team of the division, and as amusing as it was to see Stark and Romanov cursing the serial killer to the depths of hell, it was not a comforting thought. No, not even when the menace went hiatus for solid four months, the whole division was on their toes, knowing that the hiatus was just the silence before the storm.

And Dr. Allen's perfect, unblemished records made him to be the most likely suspect.

The surgeon fit the bills, in term of his skills and precision, that it was fairly easy to suspect him to be the Scarlet Ripper. It would require a specific set of skills to achieve the end result of Ripper's victims, thus narrowing the suspect list to only few people. His perfect citizen record, and unquestionable alibis was unnerving to Steve and some of his colleague in the division, because no one should be able to have such perfect evidences of innocence if they didn't plan it beforehand.

Plus, Steve never trusted a man who seemed that he has no dark sides.

You either has a dark side, or you hide it extremely well.

However, this whole mess changed everything.

The man almost died today, and even now, after he was announced stable, Dr. Allen still required close monitoring in the Intensive Care Unit. Deranged serial killer or not, neither Steve nor his teammates would agree that Scarlet Ripper would purposely let himself be badly injured. He has been missing for four months, only to come back with these dangerous metahumans working with him—the deranged man was planning a flamboyant comeback, Steve was sure of it.

Therefore, to have half-frozen lungs, broken arm, cracked ribs and literal ice particles in his veins did not match up to the profile of a serial killer that was planning on a comeback at all.

"For the past months, he was the one taking care of us," Snow murmured with a fond smile on her face, and Steve noted the longingness in her gaze when he stared at the unconscious man. "And now he is at the brink of death…," she sighed heavily, causing ice to form over the glass. "I shouldn't have invited him into my world…"

"He would heal, ma'am," Steve offered, a bit awkward as he wasn't used to comfort people. "They said that the worst has passed."

Dr. Snow squeezed her eyes shut, forehead creased in a frown while her teeth sank in her pursed lips.

Steve winced, remembering the panic they all had when the famous surgeon convulsed in a seizure as he crumpled right in the middle of the snowy battle ground—Snow's quick diagnosis dictated the man was suffering from a hypothermia. It was much later—once they rushed him into the hospital—that it was revealed that his blood was slowly being frozen while his overall core temperature has dropped to the point of near-death.

If it wasn't because of Thawne's quick thinking and abnormally hot core temperature, they would've had to dig another grave for the doctor.

Though, that was the only thing that made Dr. Allen was still not off the suspect list.

His unexpected _half-brother_.

Matthew Thawne was an unexpected enigma. There was no record of him, even though they have access to all of Henry Allen's shady business. Steve has called his colleague, demanding Stark to double-check the old doctor's files, but it was futile. There was never any mention of an illegitimate son, despite the close record they kept on all the mistresses that has been with the old doctor. But then, the old doctor has vanished without any trace ten years ago, and even their elite intelligence did not have any clue of the cold case, so there was the possibility that Thawne was something that slipped past their watchful intelligence too.

Or, considering that there were multiple parallel universes out there, and the eerie likeliness of the _half-_ brothers; Banner and Stark were actually toying with the theory that this might be the doctor's own doppelganger.

That didn't sit too well with him but fuck it Steve was not made of steel. He did feel bad for his own suspicion over the siblings, moreover now after he watched the way Thawne never left Dr. Allen's side.

Maybe, just maybe, they might be actual brothers and Steve's worries of interference from a parallel universe was baseless.

Steve exhaled a deep breath. Romanov better found something from the underground intelligences because this theory was making him anxious and nervous for no fucking reason.

The last parallel universe clash resulted in Zoom and utter chaos. No one wanted an encore of that.

"It's sweet, isn't it?" Dr. Snow smiled, oblivious to Steve's mental debate. Her gaze remained fixed on Thawne who was curled up against Allen's pillow, though Steve knew that she was talking to him. "I used to think of him as a superhuman—a being on a completely different level as compared to the rest of us—but this…"

"It humanizes him," Steve agreed, fixing his gaze on the brothers too.

Dr. Allen was the embodiment of a perfect human; his education, his behaviour and mannerism, his finance, his career, his public influence and his contribution to the society—everything was eerily perfect. It was a running joke between him and his teammates, that people like Dr. Allen was a new race of human that was created for the whole purpose of achieving utopian society.

His perfection was so unnatural—like he was programmed that way.

"Working with him showed us that he was never as close to the perfection that he displayed in public," she giggled, looking a bit relaxed now. "You should have seen his passion over his cupcakes. It was _unreal_."

"Oh?" Steve quirked a small smile, indulging in her conversation. She was pleasant to talk to when she wasn't so snowy, and Steve thought it was proper to get acquainted with a possible ally. "What happen?"

"He chucked a remote control to Cisco's head because he was outvoted in an argument over which frosting is the best for peanut butter cupcake," she giggled a little louder, the fondness was evident in her voice. "And he sulked for a solid three days afterwards. It was adorable."

Steve wanted to point out that that was terribly silly for the famed surgeon, but then his own comrade has the very same reaction after an argument over pizza topping and it would be unfair of him to judge Dr. Allen for being silly.

"That sounds like a wonderful story," he remarked—weighing the possibility that his colleagues were watching this and the idea of getting on the good side of Central City's hero—before deciding that getting on her good sides would worth it. "I'd like to hear more if you're willing to tell me? Perhaps over some coffee?" he posed the statement as a question, quirking his lips to that smile that Romanov said would kill ladies everywhere.

"Oh, if you think that's silly, you should hear about the Harry Potter debacle," she bit the bait, grinning now. "Or that one argument over Legolas' infinite number of arrows," she chuckled, and Steve wondered if she was drawing parallel between Legolas and Green Arrow. "Honestly, Dr. Barry Allen is not as cool as we thought he is when he starts geeking out over his favourite series."

Steve was genuinely worried on how trusting and at ease she was.

Everyone knew about the cross between Frost and General Eiling two years back, and yet Caitlin trusted Steve enough to not erase his memories like how they did with the rest of the exhume crew earlier.

Not that the memories erasing would work with Stark's tech implanted in his brain, but Steve was still concerned.

No heroes should be so trusting when lots of people want to bathe in their blood.

"I think you're trustworthy," she remarked randomly as they were making their way down the corridor, eyes not meeting his own.

Steve's brows rose to his hairline the exact moment she turned around to smile at him.

She was quite cute for a superhero.

"You don't set off my internal alarm," she assured, firmer this time.

Steve couldn't help but smile. "I'm glad I didn't."

* * *

Waking up from an extreme, cold-induced sleep was not something that Barry was accustomed with.

Not since the past ten years ago, anyway.

" _Don't move_."

Waking up from an extreme, cold-induced sleep, with the Flash's firm voice ordering him to not move was definitely something he never expected to experience.

"Give me one good reason why I should obey you, and not kick your sadistic ass back to your fucked dystopian Earth," Barry murmured back, being careful to not making too many movements, just in case if the Flash actually made sense for once.

"I kinda save your ass?"

Barry knew he was going to regret it, but he shifted his shoulder anyway in an attempt to at least shoulder-butt his doppelganger's face. Really, he could feel the speedster's body heat right next to him. He could do this.

Then, he was oddly disoriented when he couldn't feel the pain.

"Did they cut off my arm?" he couldn't help but ask, despite the fact that he could vaguely feel his supposedly broken arm through the numbness.

"No, silly."

"Then why I didn't feel any pain?"

He briefly felt Flash's too warm hand brushed his hair off his face before something soft planted on top of his forehead. " _You should be grateful to me,_ " Flash chuckled and when Barry was about to open his eyes, those soft hot lips trailed to his eyes, forcing him to keep it shut. " _And don't move. They're about to leave._ "

He could feel the cool air again as the Flash's retreated to his side and he remained motionless until his doppelganger started chuckling.

Assuming that it was safe now, Barry opened his eyes and glared at the speedster.

"That was a fine show. I had so much fun."

Barry groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again at the nonchalant remark. "This is why Savitar ran away, asshole. Your insanity is low-key endangering everyone," he grumbled, spitting the words through gritted teeth.

If anything, that just made the speedster to laugh even harder.

"I'm serious, jackass," Barry glowered, opening his eyes to glare at the speedster again. "You had my supposedly BFF broke my arm."

"She sedated you before she broke your arm," Flash snorted, completely unrepentant. "And Savitar will return to me once he cooled off. He is not the type to sulk for a long time."

"It still hurts, idiot."

"It already started healing," Flash hummed, tracing a playful line down Barry's casted arm. "Give a few more hours and you're as good as new."

That halted Barry's rant for a moment, as he reflected on the state of his injury. He could vaguely feel his arm, which was an odd sensation considering that he was expecting pain. Though, all that he could feel now was the heavy numbness of the sedatives they must have fed into his system. Tentatively, he tried to flex his arm, bracing himself for the pain—because Flash has enough sick sense of humour to prank Barry to hurt himself—but there was no pain at all.

Heck, Barry was convinced that he could use his arm just fine once the morphine wore off.

It was freaky enough of a situation that he could feel the goosebumps erupted all over his body.

This was the second time. First was his sprained wrist and now his broken arm.

"You know, I'm starting to think that you're slowly trying to transform me to a metahuman….," Barry remarked dryly, keeping up a perfect poker face, complete with a knowing smirk.

He couldn't show any weakness, because Flash was sure as hell would exploit it to his own benefits.

"I won't do something that you explicitly stated that you're not okay with it, Rip," the speedster shrugged, smiling brightly as he flicked a playful finger over Barry's nose. "This healing serum is not enough to change your biological structure."

"I found it difficult to take your words," Barry shot back, eyes narrowed to the nonchalant speedster. "What is the point of hurting me then?"

"To take you off the list," Flash hummed, seeming now to be taking interest in Barry's cast. "Captain Rogers and his team already marked you as their top suspect," he stated nonchalantly, a random sharpie made appearance in his grip as he started to doodle on Barry's cast. "The original plot was to knock you unconscious and kidnap you…," he snorted, the sharpie brushed over the white cast to form the outline of the head of a woman, "….y'know, so that you have the time to actually worked on the Britton kids, but then I have to improvise the plot when Steve fucking Rogers strutted his way into my drama."

Barry tried really hard to not sigh at the cartoonish doodle on his cast, but instead focused on the speedster's rant. "Is he anyone prominent in another universe?"

Flash was too irked and cautious around this guy that it was impossible if Steve was just a random military officer.

"He was a hero in another universe," the speedster snorted, pulling out a full set of colourful sharpie out of literal nowhere and started colouring his doodle. "Not one of Earth's mightiest heroes on this Earth, thankfully, but dude is still dangerous," he compared between two shades of blue, before deciding on the lighter shade. "Pretty sure he had the whole gang behind him too, which means that you need to watch your steps and make sure that our numbers are in your night job's speed dials, just in case."

Barry took a moment to process the information.

"How thoughtful of you to injure me just so I'm taken off the suspect list…," he eventually drawled, sarcasm dripped from each syllable.

Flash beamed brightly. "He probably has already assumed that I'm from another universe," he hummed, resuming to his colouring like a child. "But I had that covered for you. Gideon is uploading my hidden dark background as we speak."

"But—"

"If he asked, I'm your mentally impaired older brother from a prostitute mother who ended up dead at the hands of high-end criminal gang. That is why they initially couldn't find my record."

Barry closed his mouth and stared at the speedster for a long minute.

"Did you graduate from University of Over-Theatrical Drama?"

"Nope. I was CCU's alumni. Forensic Science," Flash shrugged, holding up two shades of black. "Which one is darker?" he asked suddenly, taking Barry completely off-guard.

Barry confusedly picked the darker black that Flash immediately used to fill in the pants of whatever he was doodling on Barry's cast—the speedster was humming a creepy lullaby under his breath.

Barry suddenly had a great respect towards Savitar and Killer Frost for being able to survive living with Flash because this behaviour was impossibly surreal, and extremely exhausting.

"I still achieve my initial objective though," Flash remarked, retreating a bit to appraise his doodle before a tiny happy smile cracked across his face. He looked up to meet Barry's bewildered gaze—the smile only grew wider as he enthusiastically added; "With this injury, you're cleared off suspicion for a few weeks. One cannot achieve the level of Scarlet Ripper's precision with a broken arm after all."

There was a moment of silence as Barry let the idea sink in while Flash returned to bedazzling his doodles with random hearts and stars.

"I hope you're not expecting a 'thank you'," Barry finally breathed out, not knowing what else to comment on. "I'm still pissed off with your theatrics."

"Not even expecting it," Flash hummed nonchalantly, snickering under his breath at something that he was drawing. "You're too stuck-up to even know what fun is."

"Excuse you—"

"And Ronnie is swapping place with you tonight," Flash cut Barry off before he could even start his defensive rant, the end of the pink sharpie was nonchalantly pointed at Barry's face. "Kidnapped the kids last night. The girl is a nervous traumatised wreck, but the boy is eager to have you fix his legs."

Barry gaped, mouth opened and closed for a solid five seconds as he tried to come up with a witty response.

"Are you ever going to listen to me?" he ended up with an exasperated sigh, completely giving up. "At least listen to my input before deciding something?"

"I listen to no one," Flash snorted, outlining the pink hearts with red sharpie. "Cute," he grinned, gently lifting Barry's cast up to admire his doodle.

Barry groaned once he had a full look of said doodle, colour finally returned to his pale cheeks as his blood rushed up to colour his face a fine light tint of pink.

"You're the worst…," he muttered, pointedly avoiding from looking at the doodle.

"You do think that it is cute," Flash had that smug grin on his face when he lightly tapped the cap of his sharpie on the doodle. "You like it~"

"Nope. Go to hell, Flash."

"Been there, they made me king—still had the marks."

Barry groaned and buried his face under the pillow.

He did think that the cartoonish drawing of Frost kissing his cheek was pretty cute….

…..but he would never admit that he was planning to salvage and keep that drawing.

Nope. Never.

* * *

How could something so morbid looked so beautiful?

Never has it crossed the eighteen years old boy's mind that he would look up to a literal defiled dead body of his own stepsister and only feeling awe and appreciation of such fine handiwork. Emmy wasn't responding well to this beauty, but his sister has always been weak-stomached, so Rod was actually impressed that she was able to stand for a complete 5 minutes while staring of their "reborn" stepsister before she finally caved and retreated to the washroom to puke her guts out.

It was a work of art. Morbid and gruesome, yes, but the structure and composition brought out the beauty from the ugly human Lucy once was.

Red was a beautiful colour.

Rod wheeled his wheelchair around Lucy's circular display, heading towards the organized stacks of papers on the glass table behind the display. The red-clad speedster that brought them here said that they were free to roam and check out things that they could access, so Rod figured that it was okay for him to read these papers, just to pass the time while their supposed saviour returned.

Never has it crossed the boy's mind that this would be the circumstance he ended up in when it came to meeting the infamous Scarlet Ripper.

Considering that Lucy was already on display, ready to be shown to the world for the serial killer's next show, Rod wasn't too concerned that his agreement to deliberately let himself be kidnapped will end badly.

Like anything could even be worse than the hell he has went through.

He tried to shift his legs but winced when the pain shot up from his legs and racked all over his body. He gasped, grasping the edge of the table as he waited for the pain to pass, silently cursing Lucy for all of her sadistic jealousy glory. It was better now because he has regained his sense of touch below his waist, but the recovery came with side-effects of feeling the pain of his broken lower half.

The speedster promised that once Ripper fixed his legs, the speedster himself would give Rod the ability to run unlike any other.

Hey, if one little shot of that magic meds was able to de-paralysed him in the span of few hours, Rod was sure there was a way to mutate himself and make him a metahuman too.

And boy, was he tempted. Having drawn short end of the luck sticks throughout his whole life, this offer was too tempting to pass. Sure, that everything came with a catch. This power offered to him has came with an invitation to the dark side, or to watch over Ripper's back to be more specific—and to be honest, Rod would have done it, even without the incentives of superspeed. Ripper killed Lucy—the main player of the suffering his poor mother and sister had went through—therefore Rod reckoned that he has owed the Scarlet Ripper more than he was able to repay.

If being the serial killer's little helper was enough to repay the man for removing Lucy from their life, Rod was more than ready to do it.

Plus, the man was pretty cool.

The boy skimmed through the papers, spending long thoughtful minutes as he stared at the rough sketches and delicate outlines of what he assumed was the original draft for Lucy's reborn. He recognized the main inspiration, having seen the picture of the silver Renaissance sculpture in online articles and was impressed that the serial killer was pretty spot-on in describing Lucy.

Envy was the most fitting sin for the cruel girl after all.

Rod picked the inspiration picture up and held it side by side with the remains of his stepsister. It seemed that the Scarlet Ripper added his own twist from the original Flötner's work. Rod was amazed at the delicate crafting of the wings, seemingly like it was built using either metals or bones, or a mixture of both as the base of the wings; with Lucy's smooth fair skin stretched out to fill in the bat-like wings. Lucy seemed _depraved_ on some parts, making her remains looked thin and ragged—a fitting match for her insatiable thirst for love and attention that never seemed enough to her. He recognized that the drapes that covered the sculpture's lower half was the remaining skin, making it a striking contrast of fair white and honest red of the muscles. Similarly, Lucy's painted red lips and half-exposed flesh of her face was a striking contrast to the white teeth that was biting into the ripped heart.

Rod briefly wondered if he could beg Lucy's dad to just display this in their gallery instead of conducting a funeral.

For once, Rod actually thought that Lucy was extremely beautiful.

"Beautiful," he breathed out, finding the irony of the situation in that statement alone.

"You know, that was the last thing I expected from you."

Rod turned his head around, only to crack a tiny shy smile at the man that was leaning against the doorframe.

It was completely abnormal to have this kind of starstruck sensation when meeting the city's infamous most wanted criminal, but Rod couldn't conceal his excitement at all.

Perhaps when those men whom Lucy's hired said that they were going to fuck his brain out, they really did so, and Rod wasn't capable of sane thinking anymore after the whole torment.

It was weird to see Scarlet Ripper without his trademark red coat, but the lack of coat and the relaxed lax of the killer's shoulders have eased the situation considerably, creating an air of casualness that was easy for the boy to breathe in. The man was only wearing his black shirt, casually unbuttoned down to his collarbone, though was still neatly tucked inside his perfectly tailored pants. The black and gold mask seemed fitting to the man's own golden tresses—and Rod was worried that he might has grown a tiny celebrity crush on the serial killer because damn, the way those golden tresses fell very casually over the masked face made the boy's heart fluttered in a very inappropriate way.

The fact that the Scarlet Ripper was exuding a comforting aura instead of intimidating one was pretty disconcerting and weird too.

"I meant it," Rod sputtered out, a bit embarrassed as he cleared his throat once, and trying so hard to not jump into fanboy mode. "I really did. You make her pretty. Very pretty."

The easy smile that spread across the masked face made Rod to be grateful for his useless legs because he just knew it that he was going to collapse onto his knees now if not only because he was sitting on his wheelchair.

"You and your sister are weird," Ripper remarked, nodding towards Lucy before shifting his gaze back to Rod—something akin of fondness flickered into those deep blue eyes. "Praising my work on her is the last thing I expected to hear from you."

Rod bit back his retort, despite how much he hated it when people described him and Lucy as siblings.

"You're upset," almost in a heartbeat, Ripper responded to his change of mood, the man's brows furrowed behind his mask as his hands slipped to his sides. "Did you not admit her as your sister?"

"I only have one sister," Rod muttered, eyes flickered to the narrow hallway that was heading to the washroom. "And she is in there, mute and broken."

There was a beat of silence as Rod stared at his knees, fighting back the angry tears that were about to leak out. He was too focused on his own grief and anger to realise that his personal space was breached, hence the sharp shocked gasp that escaped his lips when he felt warm hands gently ruffling through his hair.

"So young, having suffered so many…," Ripper hummed, sounding almost too fatherly to be that of a psychopathic serial killer, that it made Rod wondered if the man would be okay if he went for a hug.

Feeling fairly safe, Rod tentatively wrapped his arms around the lean torso and was pleasantly surprised that the killer returned the hug after a moment of hesitance. A yelp escaped the boy's lips when Ripper easily lifted him up from the wheelchair—the man ended up carrying him to the restricted area of what Rod assumed was the man's main workspace, before he was gently placed onto the metal table.

"I made a promise to her," Ripper cracked a smile as he got on his knees, hands carefully rolled Rod's loose hospital pants up to his knees. "Made me promise that I will see through your recovery," he huffed in a silent laughter, warm hands kneaded up the boy's useless legs as if he was examining the extend of the damage those legs have suffered. "I'm a man of my word."

Rod felt anger surged up to his head.

"Bitch," he growled, looking away when the serial killer looked up to meet his eyes.

"She still has the last laugh, huh?" it was a nonchalant hum, but Rod was sure that the man was at least mildly amused. "You couldn't even properly hate her when her last wish was for your own benefits."

" _Bitch_ ," he muttered again, tasting the word at the tip of his tongue—it tasted like hatred and anger, all bitter and sour. "Did she suffer?"

Ripper's hands halted over Rod's shin for a brief moment before the man looked up to meet his gaze with a cocky smirk.

"What do you think?" he asked, tipping his head in the direction of the hallway leading to the main area where Lucy was displayed.

Rod cracked a grim happy smile. "You made her tastes pain. Thank you very much."

Ripper clicked his tongue playfully and resumed his task without another comment. It was when he has rolled the pants down again that he finally remarked;

"I'm afraid that I might have defiled her corpse a couple of time."

Rod felt that the man was gouging his reaction, so he decided to shrug and cracked his happiest smile to the serial killer. "Then, I hope you have enjoyed yourself."

It was a beat of silence before the serial killer erupted to a rich amused laughter, and those warm hands were back ruffling Rod's hair.

"You're an interesting kid," the man stated once his laughter subsided, holding out his arms to carry Rod back to his wheelchair.

Rod clung a bit tighter to Ripper's shoulder as they reached the main area, feeling oddly at ease despite the obvious wrongness of being here in general. It was wrong, surreal and completely insane.

But what he was about to ask next was probably even more wrong and crazy.

Rod shot and appreciative look at the remains of Lucy and then back to the man that was carrying him—taking in the little details of the infamous serial killer's masked face as he gathered his courage.

Lucy did look very pretty.

And Rod enjoyed this kind of morbid art.

"Um…sir?"

"Hmm?"

"If I can be fixed…," Rod swallowed, bracing himself before he lost what little courage he had. "...um, will you, like…"

"Yes?"

It was disturbingly worrying on how gentle and encouraging the serial killer was as he prompted the words out of Rod's hesitant throat. Fearing that he would lost his courage, Rod blurted out quickly;

"Will you take me as your apprentice?"

Time suddenly seemed to stop.

* * *

 **A/N: I swear that Steve was originally set to be Albert, the special division was set to be from the precinct and not some secret division of the government; but then I have never liked Albert much and this just happened. Plus, it kinda fits with the theme of this chapter, which is "Art". Anyway, canonically, Albert was in relationship with Caitlin so...dun dun dun *random love rival appears*; but Barry favours Frost anyway, so it might not be much a problem? ;)**

 **The story is rising to the important arc, and like I told you in the previous chapter, Rod and Emmy would have vital roles later in the story, at least to Flash whom if you noticed, was not-so-subtly pulling a few strings of the show since the past few chapters. Barry has no idea what was going to hit him, and neither do Frost and Caitlin.**


	13. Familiar Memories

**A/N: Un-betaed. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

"Will you take me as your apprentice?"

Emmy dropped the scalpel she was holding. Oh-uh, this was not in her escape plan.

"Why?"

At least Ripper has the sense to ask the real question that Emmy wished she could have screamed at her brother.

 _Why?_

"I think you're inspiring."

It horrified her to hear the genuine awe in her brother's tone.

"Want to be like you," his voice sounded much younger in Emmy's head, the far-fetched image of a tiny young boy clinging to her skirts floated into her mind.

 _Rod, why?_

Emmy dared herself to peek around the walls, only to regret it right the next instance. A shiver wreaked down her body upon seeing the familiar way Rod was clinging to Ripper. It brought back flashbacks of their childhood—something that was not comforting at all in this situation.

Probability of Rod trying to stall some time for their escape was dwindling to single digit.

 _Brother, why?_

Ripper pursed his lips into a tight thin line, as if he was contemplating the pros and cons of having someone idolizing him the way Rod did.

"I'm an insane serial killer with horrible fashion sense and awkward tendency of necrophilia."

It was weird to hear Ripper admit that with casual thoughtful voice, but Emmy wholeheartedly agreed.

She treaded closer for a better view and prayed hard that her baby brother would come to his senses so that they could escape from this place together. She didn't have the heart to escape alone. No matter how much Rod has changed from the ordeal Lucy put them through, she would never leave her own brother behind.

To her growing horror, Rod's lips curved to a smirk as he reached out a finger to poke at Ripper's cheek, humming playfully;

"You have no idea what a great service you have done to us by killing Lucy, don't you?"

Emmy didn't have any argument for that, because admittedly, she did feel a bit safer and relieved when she heard the hushed whispers linking the news of Lucy's disappearance and Scarlet Ripper's reappearance. News travelled faster through the gossip mills and nosy hospital staffs. A lot of people were already convinced that Lucy was the next victim, especially after all the chaos and deaths Ripper's ice witch partner has caused.

The chaos was very much like the prelude to the killer's return from his months of hiatus.

And Emmy did feel bad for having a sense of safety and security over Lucy's misfortune, but her heart didn't lie—a part of her was glad that Ripper killed Lucy.

 _I'm a horrible person_ , she whimpered, her voice came out as soft incoherent mewls. _Horrible, horrible, horrible…_

She almost jumped when Ripper's rich chuckle floated through the sterile air of the room.

"Damn kid, you're one of a kind," the man muttered, sounding both amused and awed.

"Is that a 'yes' to my enrolment into School of Scarlet Ripper?"

It took a complete ten seconds for the serial killer to erupt into a full blown genuine laughter.

"I don't think you'll accept a 'no', kiddo," the soft sigh has a tint of fondness in it.

Emmy didn't waste any time to beat a hasty retreat. She kept her back to the walls, wide eyes fixed on the pathway leading to the source of the warm laughter as she frantically scrambled towards the much warmer living room.

Insane. Rod has fully embraced insanity.

She knew that her brother was not the same ever since he woke up from the surgery. Neither of them was the same. She was mute and broken—jumpy and terrified of her own shadows—while her poor little brother seemed to gain a dark shadow of his own—talking in biting sarcasm and genuinely hating on everything. Rod seemed to only tolerate her presence and as much as Emmy appreciated that, she wanted her bright baby brother back.

That seemed like a far-fetched dream now.

She reached the lavish hallway stumbling on her own shaky legs and tears streaking down her cheeks. Wild and frantic eyes sought for an escape, noting that the sliding door and the balcony was out of the options because if the skyline was any indicator, they were pretty high up. The door was out of the list too, because she had heard the disembodied feminine voice chatting with the red speedster before he left, and it would be stupid of her to alert whatever futuristic security system that Ripper has installed.

There was no escape.

She could have risked the trash chute, but she might end up in an incinerator and that didn't sound nice at all.

Then, there was a soft 'beep' and the door clicked open.

Should she risk storming out?

"Welcome, milord," the invisible female voice hummed; the tone was affectionately teasing that it made Emmy wondered why she hasn't heard of this kind of technology before. "Has your sulking been fruitful?"

There was a beat of silence, as if the visitor was stunned right in front of the unlocked door.

"For fuck's sake, Gideon, you're insufferable."

Okay, that sounded like the speedster and Emmy definitely could not escape while he was at the door.

Thus, she dashed towards the closest door, which proven to be some sort of coat closet that could fit her comfortably since it only has three meagre coats inside. Her gaze landed on the sleek red trench coat—the most striking garment in the dark—and she suddenly felt the nervousness and anxiety crept up to her chest again. She has no hiding place if someone opened the door. Inhaling as deeply and as silently as she could, she focused on the sound of soft footsteps walking into the area, the incoherent grumbling of the speedster and the clear beeping of the door locking itself again.

The footsteps stopped somewhere that sounded too close to be safe.

 _Please do not open the door, please do not open the door, please please please….._

"I do not comprehend your distaste, Lord Savitar," the disembodied voice spoke again, with an odd tinge of laughter in her voice. "I think my presence is pleasant and comforting, milord."

There was an annoyed groan. "You should not have this kind of humour. It's irritating."

The disembodied voice giggled. "I'm hilarious."

"No, you're not, you sadistic AI," the speedster grumbled, sounding too close for comfort that Emmy scooted backwards until she has basically flattened herself at the very corner of the closet, trying to hide her body behind the red coat. "Where the hell is Rip?"

"He is currently discussing curriculum with his new apprentice."

There was a long silence that made Emmy almost sympathised with the (probably) confused speedster.

"What the fuck," the speedster's voice was loud, as if he was directly outside the closet door—so close that Emmy could note the scratchy husky tinge of his voice that sounded a bit different from the one that kidnapped her. "I thought Barry's insanity is not contagious."

"Recent evidences showed that insanity is indeed contagious, _milord_."

"Stop it. Don't call me that."

"Oh, my apologies, _Your Highness_."

"For fuck's sake….," Savitar groaned, and Emmy almost squeaked when there was a sudden 'thud' against the door as if something was banged against the solid wood. "You're as insufferable as him."

"I'm his lovely daughter."

"What."

"And I have specific orders to annoy you once you returned."

"Fucking hell, Gideon."

Emmy ended up with a bunch of red fabric in her fists when the second loud thud to the door made her jumpy nerves scrambled to grasp something for comfort. It was by the chance of luck that the speedster hasn't busted the door with that kick, but she was still anxious nevertheless. The sturdy softness in her hands had her dazed for a moment, confused at the lack of expected scent of blood on the fabric. The scent was oddly comforting—a mix of the familiar fresh fragrance of the softener her mother often used on their laundry and that little tinge of vanilla and spice that reminded her of her late father. The familiarity comforted her jumpy nerves, despite the fact that this was probably the very same coat that Ripper wore every time he left his victims all around the city.

She clung to the coat like she would to her mother's waist, seeking comfort in the old memories of helping her mother doing laundry in their old ragged apartment—long before her father passed away and her mother remarry. It felt like a safe space for her, and the next thing she knew was that she has burrowed herself in the coat, escape plan floated away from her thoughts as her hands found the familiar cold of metallic cross in one of the pockets.

She had one like this one too. The exact same size, pattern and engravings—like the crosses were twins from the same set—and it was resting against her chest, a lovely golden pendant with little red rubies.

She clasped the golden cross tight in her grip, trying to remember the prayers her grandmother taught her long time ago, but it was hard to recall, since she hasn't practiced it ever since Grandmama passed away.

Thus, she sought comfort in the memories the jewellery reminded her. Holding the wrinkled hands of Grandmama as they gazed upon the first snow. Curling up against her father, inhaling the spices and the delicious smell of the bread he baked all day long—the metallic cold was a constant presence above his heartbeats. Safe space. It was safe space.

 _Safe space._

Emmy ended up burrowing herself under the coat till all that was visible was her eyes and the top of her head, pretending that this was her father's old tattered coat, craving the comfort of the man long dead.

She lost track of the time she spent there, listening to the loud conversations outside as she tried to find a window of escape. It sounded oddly domestic out there. Ripper sounded like a fussy mom as the scent of fresh baked goods wafted through the air, his clear voice sternly ordering his guest around. There were sounds of clanking, like someone was protesting against some poor set of kitchrn utensils, but there was laughter too—and to her bafflement, the laughter sounded like her own brother.

It was so surreal that she was half-convinced that this was an illusion.

 _This must be a dream_ , she thought to herself, feeling comfortably warm underneath the coat as the noises outside slowly toned down to soft buzz.

 _Everything will be okay once I wake._

Though, the next thing she knew, her groggy body jolted up from the sudden pour of light as the door was abruptly opened. She blinked the sleep away and let out a squeak upon noticing that Ripper was there—the man was looking down at her with a deep frown on his face. He was wearing a comfy white pyjama, and with the intensity of the artificial glow of the lights behind him, he looked like what one would see at the gates of heavens—all white and bright as opposed to the darkness of the closet.

"Emmy," he called softly.

She looked up to meet his unmasked face, whimpering at the shadows of wrinkled eyes of the exact same shade of green that overlaid his youthful ones. She recognized this undisguised face. She has seen that face on every sort of medias and even her own textbooks before, but never she was able to sense the familiarity of the warm gaze.

A soft whine tore out of her sore throat upon noticing that even his smile was familiar—gentle and kind.

 _Papa_.

She whimpered again, curling herself even more against the walls.

"I'd appreciate it if you don't spend the night hiding in my closet, Emmy…," he sighed, sounding very much like an exasperated parent. "You have been in there for hours."

 _You knew?_ She opened her mouth to ask, but only strangled noise came out of her throat.

It didn't seem like her muteness was a bother to him. Instead, he messed with his own fluffed out hair, lips grew to an assuring smile as he came down to her current height. "I just thought that you might need the space," his shoulders moved in a quick shrug, the smile twisted to a somewhat stern yet concerned one. "But I think we should put a limit to that. You haven't eaten anything, and it would be a disgrace of me to display such bad hospitality to my guests."

He smiled at her, drawing her into his deceit with the sincere warmth of his gaze.

Emmy whimpered and backed away, flinching from his outreached hand.

This was a dangerous man with an established body count. Why did he not obey the normal depiction of serial killer that has ever existed in the universe? Serial killers weren't supposed to look like angels at the gates of heaven, nor were they supposed to smell like baked goods and has the smile of a loving patient father.

 _This is wrong_ , she thought, backing away even more as if she wanted to be a part of the wall.

He inhaled a deep breath and gave her a tentative smile.

"May I sit beside you?"

She squeaked at his tentative query, wondering why he would even be bothered to ask. She was his prisoner, he had her abducted for a reason, therefore there is no needs for him to be considerate of her comfort. Her gaze wandered up and down the length of his body in wariness, still unsure of his actual intentions.

Her fear must have been palpable because he scooted backwards and gave her more space, opting to sit on the floor just outside the closet, his back was resting against the wood of the open door.

"Your sister last wish was for me to see through your recovery," he remarked, staring at the ceiling instead of meeting her gaze. "She is sorry for what she has done to you."

She shifted a bit to gain more distance, wanting to stay as far away as possible from him…only to halt mid-crawl. Emmy blinked furiously, wanting to make sure that she wasn't imagining anything. Indeed, there was glossy sheen of regret over his eyes, not quite enough to be tears, but just enough to display remorse. The sorrow in his expression mirrored her own emotion, and she was suddenly wishing for her lost voice to come back.

She desperately wanted to know why the supposed insane serial killer showed sorrow for his own victims.

"She is really sorry," he chuckled, voice a bit higher and cracked now. "But apology and regret couldn't break through the barrier of death."

Emmy scowled, wanting to point out that he was the one putting that barrier between Lucy and them.

"Don't know if apologies would ever be enough…," he snorted, huffing a bitter laugh. "No matter how kind and forgiving sister is…"

Emmy frowned. He was wrong.

There was never any hesitance of Emmy's part that she would accept Lucy's apology if Lucy ever apologise.

Rod might be a more vengeful sibling between the both of them, but Emmy was more forgiving and hopeful. She loved Lucy, regardless of the fear she has for the younger girl. No matter how cruel and horrible Lucy was to her, Emmy still has this thin thread of hope that they could be actual loving sisters sometime in the future. She wanted to get along with Lucy, always wanting a sister of her own since sometimes Rod couldn't relate with her female dilemmas no matter how hard he tried.

Ripper shouldn't even assume that Emmy would never forgive Lucy—

"Not when these hands caused so much pain, y'know?"

Emmy halted her voiceless mental tirade. Ripper was staring at his own hands, and those hands were shaking, trembling so violently. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to understand the odd regretful expression on his face.

This didn't match up at all. She has this sinking suspicion that he wasn't even talking about Lucy.

She didn't realise that she has crawled to sit beside him until it was too late to retreat. It was weird. The sense of familiarity that drawn her to him was strange, but her confused mind was on auto-pilot mode. His wrist was warm in her grip, and the tremble of his hand grew stronger when she placed the golden cross on his palm.

It did look like a matching set—his earring and her pendant. Must be from the same craftsman.

He quirked a tiny smile at her, the chain slipped through his fingers as he pressed the cross to his forehead, eyes fluttered close and a sigh slipped past his lips, as if the thing brought a sense of comfort to him.

She wondered if he was religious despite the heinous crimes he committed.

"This once belonged to my great-grandmother," he hummed, eyes still closed, his lips pressed gently over the small ruby. "Been in the family since the 18th century. Supposed to be passed from daughter to daughter," he opened his eyes and quirked a half-hearted smirk in her direction. "I break the tradition."

So, sentimentality it was then.

 _"Take it, my dear. Grandmama would be happy to know that my daughter will resume the tradition."_

Emmy couldn't help the tiny smile that emerged on her face. Ripper needed a daughter to resume the tradition he broke. Just like Papa.

"Hmm?" He inquired, one eyebrow arched, his gaze fell on Emmy's hand that was tugging on his sleeves.

Emmy flushed light pink. His presence was deceivingly soothing, catching her off-guard and causing her body to move on its own. It was like how she always behaved around Rod. Her mind and body were tuned to Rod's mood, therefore whenever her little brother was in distress, she always reacted before she could even think.

Weird that it worked the same to Ripper too.

Ripper was in distress, and Emmy's body instantly reacted. Her day couldn't get any weirder.

Emmy opened her mouth to speak, but only pathetic croaks escaped her lips. She whimpered in distaste, wincing when Ripper huffed a noiseless laughter. He then wordlessly and trustingly handed her his phone; the note application was already opened.

"I'll get you a notebook later," he smiled, nodding encouragingly at her.

She hesitated, wondering if she could contact the police or anyone without him noticing. She pretended to think of words to type, though her mind was frantically looking for any ways to tap that three emergency numbers, but it was of no use. His watchful gaze remained on her, therefore she reluctantly handed her last hope of escape back to him.

The smile that grew on his face was genuine when he read the note.

She hunched her shoulder when he ruffled her hair, long fingers gently threaded through her hair, a reminisce on the good old days whenever her father spent his lunch break braiding her hair. She could never forget the lingering scent of vanilla and spice that the rough hands left on her hair back then.

His hands didn't leave the same scent, but the lingering warmth was similar.

"Yeah, I'd love a daughter too."

* * *

Steve was on self-imposed guard duty.

The coffee break with Snow was pleasant and delightful—a soothing event in the midst of today's chaos—and Team Frost was generous enough to lend him the access of the living facilities in Starlabs since they were closer to the hospital than his hotel. He has accepted the offer with a grateful smile, feeling slightly bad when he betrayed Snow's trust and had JARVIS hijacked Starlabs system. It was a nerve-wrecking wait, because apparently their tech was on par with each other, but he managed to hook their surveillance with Starlab's satellite without alerting the geniuses on Team Frost.

He had showered, had a little nap to sooth the soreness from fighting the ice witch and spent a surprisingly not-awkward dinner with the team of heroes before he returned to the hospital. Team Frost felt pretty familiar to him. The Snart siblings reminded him of the unholy combo of Stark and Romanov, while Dr. Wells and Banner would be a wonderful twitchy science duo if they were ever in the same room together. Cisco and Parker could have been geeky soul twins from different parents with all of the passion and mechanical techy-bullshit they seemed to sputter on minutely basis.

Such familiarity made Steve felt less of a stranger among the heroes' team.

Tough, he did feel that they were such a novice in this vigilante thing. The team has trustingly thanked him when he volunteered to watch over Dr. Allen while they went out on their regular patrol.

And they technically just knew him for not more than 24 hours.

It greatly concerned him that these trusting heroes were the protectors of the second craziest city in the nation. Sure, the criminals here weren't as batshit crazy as the ones in Gotham, and obsessive terrorists didn't resurface from the depth of the underworld to wreak havoc on weekly basis like it was in New York, but weird things happened in Central on daily basis. They shouldn't be this laidback and trusting.

One must always be on guard for the unexpected.

"On your left."

He almost jumped upon hearing that soft whisper, the warm blow of air to his neck almost made him yelp in the most undignified way. Almost. Thank god for his quick reflexes that saved him from being the centre of team's joke.

"You know what, Romanov…," he turned around and scowled at her. "That ain't cute."

She rolled her eyes, looking flat-out bored and unimpressed.

"Never in my job description it stated that I should be cute unless it was necessary to deceive the target to the bed of doom," she smirked, stepping just a bit closer into his personal space, the playful blow of her warm breath was a striking contrast of the cool air.

Steve scowled at her when he felt the additional light weight in his back pocket.

How the hell she moved that quick, he didn't want to know.

"Got anything?" he muttered instead, anxious to know her findings yet not wanting to remove himself from his guard duty to read whatever that was contained in the flashdrive in his back pocket. "You're taking too much time on this one."

Indeed, she did take far longer time on this particular investigation as compared to her previous records. How hard it could be to look into the life of an old neurologist?

It was pretty hard, apparently.

"Old doctor is a sneaky fucked-up scumbag. It took some time to dig out his dirty laundry from the depths of hell," she hummed, peering closer to the glass window. "But long story short, he is a horrible dad to his kids."

"So, Thawne is…?" Steve cocked an eyebrow, holding back a relieved breath.

"One of the unfortunate kids," she smirked light-heartedly, but there was murder in her eyes. "One of the few surviving mini-Allens."

Steve didn't like her wording at all.

"We ain't wrong," she shrugged and snorted, turning around to stare into the room again, eyes narrowed in concerned glare towards the prone figure of Steve's charge. "Old doc was trying to create utopian race," she shuddered, her arms tightened around her own torso. "His kids were the guinea pigs…be it this legal one or the ones that went under the radar."

"Shit."

"Language," she chided, clicking her tongue in an exaggerated disappointment.

"That ain't gonna go away soon, huh?" he sighed, turning around to look at the sleeping doctor again, the device in his back pocket suddenly felt heavier. "So, we shouldn't be worried of multiverse conflict?"

"Read the fucking files, Steve," she hummed, glancing up at him with an annoyed glare. "I didn't scour through the dark depths of underground network to give you a lecture on the same files I have gathered."

Steve scowled. "Why are you so horrible."

"Aw, Stevie. You flattered me."

He scowled at her taunting smirk but said nothing to retort. "Fucked up parent, huh?" he sighed instead, his gaze grew softer when it landed on the famous young doctor.

"That didn't even sum the whole thing up," she sniffed, arms crossed over her chest as she nodded towards the cot. "How's he?"

"Worst," Steve sighed, barely hiding the shudder of his massive frame. "When I arrived, the staffs were panicking because his temperature suddenly spiked."

"Ouch," she openly winced, but her facial expression didn't change. "How bad?"

"They could literally melt a marshmallow on his forehead with that temperature."

"Fuck," she cursed, eyes narrowed, and forehead creased in disbelief. "And dude is still alive?"

"Language," he chided, mirroring her own exaggerated act earlier.

However, before Romanov could assault him with that little taser thing she was so fond of (she was considering on it, _he knew_ ), their phones buzzed in the familiar important alert. Romanov casted a quick look around the area, confirming that the coast was clear first before she whipped out the sleek communication device. They cowered closer once the holographic projection came into view—their faces were identical expression of indifference, shoulders straight and alert in perfect trained discipline.

"Yo."

Steve's brows twitched in premonition of bad news once the ragged face of their self-appointed head of intelligence popped on the screen—Stark's dark eyes were squinted into narrow angry slits while his lips twisted in a scowl. Even the man's greeting was heavy of bitter sarcasm.

That was never a sign of good news.

"What's up, Tony?" Romanov asked before Steve could even open his mouth.

"He is back," Stark grumbled, voice dredged with exhaustion and pure irritation. "Fucking Ripper finally out of his vacation and made a comeback. And he really wants all the spotlights on him for his return," he added as a smaller screen popped up to display the gruesome statue made of flesh. "Son of a bitch."

Steve was grateful that he didn't eat too much during dinner because his dinner was trying to make a reappearance now. He wasn't easily queasy per se—he was still in the military after all—but people has limits. Sane people has limits on the amount of gore they could stand, so this sudden nausea was perfectly justified. Even Romanov was a bit green and she has the strongest stomach out of the whole division.

On a more positive note, they could take one case file off Bucky and Barton's checklist considering that one of their mark was right there at the main lobby of Central's Museum of Art. What a wonderful news. Now those two only have the missing siblings to track.

"Ten bucks that our creepy stalker duos are pretty peeved right now," Stark commented off-handedly, gesturing something at his side of the screen. "Out of context, I must say that Ripper would have a promising career as horror movie director."

"Not funny, Stark," Steve sighed, enlarging the crime scene picture for better scrutinizing.

It seemed like their suspicion of Lucy Britton being the latest addition in Scarlet Ripper's victim list was right. That was her all right, placed in the lobby of Central's Museum of Arts. The night guard has found her and instantly alerted CCPD. There was no report of any notes from the serial killer yet, but Steve couldn't help but feel like the arrangement of Lucy's corpse was oddly familiar.

It took a few minutes of ignoring Stark's rambling to find the exact memory he required.

"Ripper did his homework," he breathed out, remembering his visit to the art museum in Baltimore back during the small break of his academy years. His lips stretched to an uncomfortable grimace as he explained to his confused colleagues; "Not the best remake of art pieces, but our killer really did his homework."

"What."

"I can recognise his main source of inspiration for this one."

"What. What," Stark gaped. "Are you telling me that this… _thing_ …is inspired by some medieval art pieces?"

" _Allegory of Envy._ Renaissance era."

"Great. Stevie could bond with Ripper over art," Romanov deadpanned, shuddering. "Send me back to Mother Russia please."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Funny."

There was a beat of thoughtful silence.

"It will be morbidly fascinating if the other two kids are submitted as the continuation of Ripper's seven deadly sin series," Stark commented nonchalantly.

"Tony, NO," Romanov hissed the exact same time Steve said, "They are not dead yet, Stark!"

"Well, Barton and Barnes couldn't track them down…"

"Ripper is not our average threat either. There is still hope."

"Come on, realistically, the kids are as good as dead."

"STARK."

"And if Ripper is such an artist—as morbid of a fucker he is—the kids could be the next pieces in his series."

"Jesus Christ," Steve exhaled, looking up to the ceiling as if he was begging for patience and strength from god.

Romanov muttered something in Russian under her breath.

"There is the probability of that, you know...?" Stark trailed, pointedly ignoring the unfavourable reactions of his colleagues as he pulled out a couple more files—this time personal files on Emmy and Rod—to the main frame of the holographic screen. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that the siblings don't represent—"

"NO," both Steve and Romanov growled in the same time.

Stark wisely kept his mouth shut.

* * *

Stubborn Barry was adorably annoying.

Adorable, yes, but he was incredibly aggravating and annoying.

"Barry, NO," Lisa chided for the twentieth-something time that day, hands on her hips, face twisted to a glare of exasperation at their stubborn resident doctor. "Go back to your couch or I'm strapping you to bed."

Barry stared at her with wide scandalized eyes.

"Don't know that you're kinky, Lise," he grinned, all the while pathetically attempting to unwrap the colourful wrapping of his cupcake using only one hand. "Need to be careful with my arm though. I can do some pain play, but real injuries sucks."

Len snorted a silent wheeze of laughter.

"Jesus, Barry," Lisa sighed, the corners of her lips half-turned to a smile as she swiped the dessert from his struggling hand and unwrapped it for him. "You had a nasty fever that was hot enough to fry an egg on your forehead."

Barry clicked his tongue. "That was an over-exaggeration, even for you."

"That wasn't even an exaggeration, Barry," Lisa retorted. "I demand you to adhere to your bedrest order."

Barry's face made a weird expression that seemed like a mix of exasperated smile and annoyed scowl.

"I'm cleared," he flashed his teeth in his trademark charming smile again. "As healthy as a horse."

Lisa lost her will to be stern when the doctor shoved the whole cupcake into his mouth.

" _Barry_ ," instead, the former criminal growled, channelling all of her Alpha female voice to subdue the stubborn man.

"Nuh-uh," Barry shook his head, not even fazed. "I'm as fit as a fiddle," he said, voice muffled with the food in his mouth. "Minus the arm."

No one can maintain a straight face once their gaze landed on the cartoonish doodle on the cast. That's why Cisco was sent away to remain in his workshop—because the genius scientist couldn't stop giggling and making snarky commentaries on the doodles. Not that anyone could fault him. All those hearts and glitters were hard to not laugh at.

"You threatened your own doctors," Lisa tried to argue. She struggled to remain serious, but Caitlin would definitely give her credits for her valiant effort restraining her own giggles. "They couldn't say no to you when you're practically their boss."

"I'm fine," Barry grumbled. "I'm completely fine and healthy."

As if to prove that he was fine enough to annoy everyone, he chewed on his dessert obnoxiously loud, lips curled to a satisfied smirk when Len shot a glare in his direction.

"What the hell, doc," the older man scowled, tossing his pen to the walls. "That's disgusting."

Barry chewed louder.

Len looked like he was torn in between sighing in exasperation or punching the doctor.

That was it. Caitlin could no longer remain incognito. She burst to a giggle, thus alerting the team of her presence in the cortex. Len threw his arms in the air, murmuring something that sounded like praises to the greatness of Caitlin's timing while Lisa quirked a somewhat relieved smile the moment their gaze met.

Barry's attention was not on Caitlin though.

"Oh, you got more cupcakes~" he swallowed the remaining half of his cupcake in one loud gulp, bouncing off the couch they have managed to fit into the cortex, his eyes were only fixed the stacks of boxes in Caitlin's arms. "Thanks, Cait."

One would have dreamt of having a lover that looked at them the exact way Barry stared longingly at the boxes of cupcakes.

"Your obsession over the cupcakes is worrying, Barry," Caitlin smiled. "You consumed an average of ten boxes in a day. This is unhealthy," she teased, keeping the boxes out of the reach of his one grabby hand.

"As if anything you guys had around here is healthy."

Len scowled. "Excuse us for not having fancy taste buds like you, doc."

"Pizza every day ain't healthy either," Barry retorted, trailing behind Caitlin in his futile attempts to wrestle one of the boxes from her. "You need to eat real balanced food. There are lots of choices," he frowned a bit. "Try to widen your food variety. Look into foreign cuisine, preferably Asians. The lot of fifty-plus countries of the continent. I'm particularly fond of the ones with rice."

"Rice ain't that common in our palate, doc," Len remarked, the end of his pen was pointed in Barry's direction. "We only started eating it because we have you to cook everything."

"It's not that hard to cook. And they have a wide-variety of side dishes," Barry retorted, scowling stubbornly. "Most are healthy and well-balanced too."

"Pizza is easier."

"You're a disgrace to humanity," Barry hissed to the older man, conveniently forgetting his mission to steal the cupcakes. "I can't believe that you heathens eat only pizza and Chinese every day before I joined the team…"

Len cocked an eyebrow in Barry's direction, his face was that of amused disbelief. "Says the guy who refused to eat nothing but cupcakes," he said flatly.

"I need food. And neither of you can cook," Barry growled, now returning to his attempts to wrestle the cupcake box from Caitlin's hold. "Gimme my cupcakes."

Geez, did he just whine?

Lisa burst to a giggle, pressing her face tight to her palms. Caitlin simply quirked an exasperated smile.

Len was so done.

"Get the doc outta here, Snow," the former thief growled. "Before he drives us crazy."

Barry's face twisted to an insulted scandalized expression.

"What did I do?!"

No one answered his query.

"Go sit at your couch and behave while we gather your stuffs, then I'll give you your cupcakes," Caitlin nodded towards the couch, steeling her resolves when he gave her that impossibly hard to resist puppy eyes. "Not falling for your puppy eyes trick, Barry," she smirked, avoiding those eyes and stared at the ceiling instead.

"You're a bully," he pouted, but obeyed regardless, making a show of shuffling dejectedly to the couch. "And I need my comfort food," he threw himself onto the couch, sprawled out across the whole length of the furniture and looking very much like a spoiled kid. "Don't judge."

Everyone stiffened for a moment.

No one has ever mentioned Iris ever since Barry cleared himself to be discharged from the hospital. They avoided talking about everything related to the current lurking danger of the city. Ripper's return, Iris' resurrection, the Britton's kids kidnapping and the growing insanity of the Ripper's MO—they avoided them all whenever Barry was around.

Not after everything that has happened at the graveyard.

It was agreed by the whole team to not remind Barry of Iris' resurrection to the dark side. Barry was surprisingly cheerful and bouncy ever since his nasty fever subsided, and such uncharacteristic behaviour had the whole team to tread on thin line around him. They weren't familiar with this new coping mechanism Barry was employing.

His coping mechanism was getting more unpredictable the longer they knew him.

They have seen him stoic and emotionless, displaying a perfect poker-faced statue—that was chilling. They have seen him faked a smile in an obvious attempt of hiding his depression—that was heart-wrenching. They have seen him seething silently, emitting dark aura that reminded them that he has all the knowledge in the world that could be used to kill if he wanted to—that was super terrifying.

This happy and bouncy Barry? It was annoyingly adorable and seemed like an improvement.

They all hoped that it wasn't a blessing in disguise.

"Matt has gone home?" Caitlin asked as she was sorting the food on the snack table. "I haven't seen him around," she added, turning around with a plastic bag filled with their share of the food.

The original plan was to stick together at Starlabs until they managed to get things under control.

However, Len's stressed out frown was growing deeper for each second that passed, and Lisa couldn't focus on anything when her attention was constantly diverted to watch over Barry. Cisco has already been exiled to his workshop because he just couldn't stop making fun off Barry's cast, while Dr. Wells has returned home after the first few hours because he couldn't stand the sight of seeing someone he respected so deeply acting so annoyingly childish. Considering the benefits of the team, Caitlin decided a change of plan was in order. Better not risk Len from losing his patience while dealing with Barry's shenanigans.

It was once an unbelievable idea, but Barry indeed possessed the capability to annoy people to death if he put his mind to it.

"Trouble at home," Barry mumbled, shuddering a bit as Lisa bundled him up in his coat. "Plus, Savvi finally stopped sulking," he snorted, as if there was something funny that neither Caitlin nor the Snart siblings understand. "Matt would ditch me for the brat," he huffed a bitter laugh, his voice toned down to that of a mock-sadness. "Oh, the sad perks of being the middle child."

Len snorted under his breath.

"Oh. What kind of trouble? Is it bad?" Lisa stopped smoothing the wrinkle over Barry's collar as she looked up to him—a concerned frown streaked across her face. "Will they be needing any helps?"

In such short days they knew each other, Lisa was already comfortable on joking to disown Len and adopt Matt as her older brother instead. Needless to say, Len took the competition for the best older brother seriously.

It resulted in chaos just like Caitlin predicted, but a good kind of chaos. It was like a relaxing distraction to divert their attention from the current crisis.

"Nah," Barry shrugged, tilting his chin up so that Lisa could wrap the scarf around his throat. "They have it covered. Matt is a good problem-solver once he stopped being a figurative pain in the ass," he scowled when the older woman poked his cheek, but his tone remained flat and bored as he added, "He is actually sort of excited with the whole ordeal."

"Why the hell would he be excited?" Len frowned, shifting his attention from the screen towards Barry.

"Because it's _trouble_ ," Barry grimaced. "He enjoyed getting into troubles."

"It runs in the family, huh?" Len leered. "You enjoyed getting into trouble too, doc."

Barry scowled at the older man, invoking a mocking laugh from the former thief.

"Tell them to call if they need help," Len remarked once his laughter subsided, his eyes were back to the screen of his laptop, his tone was monotonous and bored, as if he didn't care.

Caitlin knew that he did care though. Len hardly ever had anyone that he could bond so easily with like Matt ever since Mick went off saving the timeline with Team Legends. There was a forming comradeship between Len and Matt, although it seemed that neither man wanted to admit it.

"Sure, sure," Barry was equally monotonous in his response. However, his face lit up in mischief when Caitlin hooked her arm with his good one. He perked up in Len's direction, yelling obnoxiously loud; "Hey, Lenny—"

Caitlin pressed her hand over his mouth and tugged him out before he could make any snarky remark that might tempt Len to toss random object in their direction.

"Aw. Cait, you're no fun," he grumbled once she finally allowed him the privilege of speaking again. "Len is super fun to tease," he tried to reason when she ignored him, but did not resist when she ushered him into the passenger seat of his car.

"No messing with the stressed guy, Barry," she smirked, taking the driver seat. "You don't have accelerated healing if he decided to ice you."

"I thought you're supposed to protect civilians like me?"

"Don't worry, Barr," she smiled, not even looking in his direction as they left Starlabs' compound. "I'm your assigned babysitter until further notice. You will be well-protected."

That managed to invoke an annoyed scowl from him. Caitlin loved it.

"I don't need any babysitter," he muttered under his breath.

"With how you behave recently, Barry?" Caitlin deadpanned, a taunting smirk spread across her face. "The whole team has come to an agreement that you need a babysitter _and_ a caretaker. Even Dr. Wells."

She received another annoyed scowl and a crumpled ball of tissue to her hair for that comment.

It has been a mutual agreement of the team that Caitlin would be on babysitting duty once Barry's bored shenanigans reached the point that he needed to be kept away from the stressed team so that he wouldn't drive them crazy. They nominated her for the duty because she is the most likely to be able to hold her own if Iris struck again—having similar powers and all. She also was the only one in Team Frost who has met the protection detail guy from Steve's team—which freaked her out a bit to know that there was a whole division consisted on trained vigilantes whose function was like some underground National Security Department.

And they deemed Barry important enough to warrant a personal protection detail.

It was cool to have back up.

Plus, Caitlin would have the privilege of taking a break of her own while babysitting him.

These past couple of days were extremely eventful and hectic.

In between the graveyard fight, Barry's sudden nasty fever, Ripper's annoyingly flambouyant comeback murder and the kidnapping of the Britton's siblings, Caitlin didn't have much time to rest despite Frost was the one taking the brunt of the exhaustion of being the active persona for an extended period of time. The team was up to their neck with investigations. Even with Steve's help to take over the guard-duty at the hospital, they still have too much on their plate.

Frost and Cisco spent way too much time at CCPD as Team Frost needed the intel from the police, while CCPD required the raw power of metahuman to subdue Iris. Plus, it was the first time ever Ripper was suspected to kidnap the relatives of his victim, and the fact that this was the most elaborate work the serial killer has _submitted_ for public viewing ever since he started, has had everyone to be on their toes.

No one knows what to expect next.

The high stress level and the sudden rise of anxiety attack among the officers of CCPD proved that Ripper was growing to be more of an annoying menace and health hazard than he originally was.

Stuck neck deep in the current crisis, Caitlin still hasn't gotten around to contact Oliver, moreover that the older man was terribly busy with whatever psychos on the loose in Starling now. She ought to call him soon though, since Oliver was probably the best source she had on the magical fountain that resurrected the dead.

Well, he was the easiest accessible source, considering that Sara was off gallivanting across the timestream and was difficult to reach.

As depressing as it was to know that her best friend has really been resurrected as a villain, Caitlin was determined to be positive for the sake of her own mental well-being. Sara managed to regain her old self again, maybe there was still hope for Iris to return to them.

Caitlin exhaled a heavy defeated breath.

"That's one heavy sigh," Barry commented, brows almost knitted together in a concerned frown; he sounded more like his normal self now. "Am I _that_ annoying?"

She shook her head. "It's not you, Barry," Caitlin glanced briefly at him and gave him an assuring smile. "But I had to admit that you can be a pure annoyance when you put your mind to it," she smirked, wanting to change the topic, and even though her eyes were fixed on the road, she could still see the beaming grin on his face from her peripheral vision. "Len was so close to maim you with the most random object he could reach."

Barry was silent for a long moment.

"Mission accomplished then," he finally huffed, letting out a soft chuckle.

He didn't seem to notice the surprise that streaked across Caitlin's face.

Caitlin noted the barest hint of exhaustion in his voice and the slump his shoulders against the seat that suggested he was about to pass out right there and then. He seemed like he was back to normal—like his normal calm and mature self as all the silly and annoying behaviours were now gone from his demeanour.

Caitlin's mind took way too long for things to click in.

"Did you act annoyingly silly on purpose?" she asked, slowing down a bit now that they have entered the compound of his apartment.

She winced when Barry stared at her with the most unimpressed look he has ever displayed.

"I cleared myself out of the hospital to avoid the gloomy bleak atmosphere," his lips curved to a smirk, his good hand reached out to lightly flick a finger to her temple. "And what did I get when I arrived at the cortex? A gloomier atmosphere filled with stress and murderous aura."

Caitlin pursed her lips, guilt filled her chest as she now was positively avoiding from meeting his gaze. She busied herself with the drive, fumbling with the security card that granted access to the parking lot of his apartment building even though she has previously put it in the most easily accessible place.

Crap. Did they overworked the guy they were supposed to take care of?

"I need to do something. The tensed atmosphere was suffocating," Barry exhaled, eyes fluttered close wearily as if he just had the chance to relax for the first time ever since he was discharged from the hospital. "Not that I wasn't enjoying annoying all of you, though," he added in a more light-hearted tone, chuckling fondly. "But yeah, all of that stupidity was on purpose."

"You're surprisingly convincing."

"I have two weirdoes of half-brothers," he stated flatly, as if that would explain everything. "My reference materials are the best."

"Dr. Wells was traumatised you know," Caitlin pointed out, glancing at him to see his reactions.

It was an unspoken fact that Dr. Wells deeply respected Barry as fellow scholars; which it made it hard for the old scientist to accept Barry's silly shenanigans since the past few days.

"That was the best part," Barry's grin was positively delighted. "I can finally cross out 'annoy the life out of Dr. Wells' from my bucket list."

"Meanie," she pouted, averting her eyes from meeting his gaze as she put in an exaggerated effort to look for his reserved parking space.

There were too many expensive cars around the lot that she worried that she couldn't afford it if there was an accident. Completely focused with the drive, Caitlin has missed the way his eyes twinkled in smug amusement, nor did she notice the strange curve of his smirk.

"You're entertaining to _tease_ ," Barry remarked, voice smooth and perfectly calm. "I couldn't resist myself."

Caitlin obliviously drove on.

* * *

Caitlin was given the babysitting duty.

Or to be specific, she was in charge of babysitting Barry.

Barry didn't know what to feel about that.

The pro of this situation was that his alibi for the next few weeks was pretty much solidified with the Frost herself watching over him. He had her to vouch on his injury, which would be greatly helpful to him should he was ever got arrested. But in the same time, there was the probability that she would notice his façade and lies too.

Flash was right. Barry has regained the full functionality of his supposedly broken right arm in the span of 12 hours.

He has spent half of the day after his full recovery conducting hours-long surgery to fix Rod's legs and the rest of the day trying to bond with Emmy. Barry considered himself to be successful for both endeavours since the surgery was successful in the end and Emmy was comfortable enough to let him sit next to her by the time he has to leave the siblings under Gideon's care.

The mute girl seemed to have softened a bit to him when Rod was predicted to be cleared for rehab in a few days' time.

Which by the way, made Barry thought that if Flash wasn't so deranged and evil, the speedster would've made a wonderful profit in medical field with how fast his blood serum fixed the most helpless of injuries.

Barry stared at his perfectly good arm in the bedazzled cast and sighed heavily.

If only his doppelganger wasn't insane and vengeful.

"Barry?" there was a knock on his door and he promptly winced at the idea of pretending to be helpless. "Do you need help?" Caitlin called out.

Yep. There it was. She thought that he couldn't dress himself. How degrading.

"I'm good!" he called back, wincing at the ridiculousness of the current state of his shirt.

Nobody seemed to notice that he was perfectly ambidextrous since he was prone to use his right hand for most things. It was years of practice to fake being right-handed. His old man had him kept this ability a secret ever since he was a kid. _An advantage against unsuspecting opponent_ , Dr. Henry Allen had once said.

Barry didn't know why he adhered to those words even after his father disappeared, but it did him great, moreover now that he has established night career as a serial killer.

Anyway, in his current 'injured' state, it would be logical that he would have trouble buttoning up his shirt using one functional _non-dominant_ arm.

Barry sighed heavily.

Since when has his life turned to one dramatic play full of deceit and acting?

"Okay," she replied politely, but there was no sign that she has left his door.

Oh, how he wished that he has the foresight to predict that Deathstorm's scorching hot temperature would cause immediate panic for everyone once they swapped place. He returned from Dark Earth with a completed to-do-list—being so pleased with himself of the success with the siblings and the perfect comeback of his bloodthirsty alias—only to be greeted with everyone's tears of relief.

Ugh. The long hours trying to sooth their frantic panicking…all because of his supposedly deadly fever has suddenly subsided.

Even Captain Rogers exhaled in relief at Barry's recovery.

He even got a hug from the enormous man. Those muscles weren't for show—they were solid and hard as fuck.

As comforting as it was to know that the military officer wasn't as suspicious of him now as he was before, Barry could do nothing to decline the team's persistence to have Caitlin watching over him for the rest of the week, just in case he had a 'relapse'. It was a waste of time and energy, of course, but it put the team at ease, and proven to be helpful to his alibi, so he shut his mouth up and accepted his fate.

Barry gave a quick once-over to the mirror and schooled his face to a sheepish smile as he opened the door.

He grimaced when the corners of Caitlin's lips twitched a bit as if she was holding back a laughter.

 _This is humiliating_.

"Mind if I fix your buttons?" she smiled, evidently doing her best to not laugh at him.

"It looks fine," Barry grumbled, but let his shoulders slumped anyway when she reached out her hands to his shirt. "I'm perfectly capable of buttoning my own shirt."

"Of course you are," she cooed, smiling wider as she fumbled to unbutton the clothing hazard of his shirt. "But I want to help," her fingers were quick and swift on the buttons, adjusting and fixing them to get into the right slot.

"Remind me to shop for more t-shirts," he muttered, completely not realising that he was unconsciously leaning closer to her cold touch.

"Preferably one with larger size," she smoothed out his collar, her lips quirked to a teasing smirk. "Your cast won't fit through your slim-fit shirts."

Barry's brows shot up to his hairline in genuine surprise.

"You sure you want to pass on the beauty of my slim-fit shirts?" he teased, smirking smugly.

Caitlin flushed to a light pink hue, but her shoulders were straight and firm when she stepped back and patted his shoulder. "Your comfort first, Barry," she smiled, shifting her weight from one foot from another. "You're not obligated to wear teenager-sized shirts just so we have something to ogle."

Barry smirked.

"I would've gone shirtless now than dealing with my vast collection of button-downs, but then I remembered that Frost has wonderfully perverted sense of humour and I'm bound to be teased for the next month if I walked around shirtless around her," he stated dryly, closing his bedroom door behind him as they wandered down to the living room.

This was probably the longest period he had a guest in his permanent resident ever since the last time Len was here. He worried that Caitlin would stumble over the little secret room in his study, but then he reminded himself that he has wonderful security system, and even if she did stumble over his base here, she won't find much. Barry has completely moved his operation base to his apartment on Dark Earth. His apartment there was much safer and more well-equipped than the one in his penthouse. Plus, he has supportive and wonderful neighbours there. It was a better environment to be creative than here.

The worst that could happen if Caitlin discovered anything was that he would be questioned of the reasons behind his secret room, of which he could easily lie his way out.

"Are we going to spend the day watching Disney again?" Barry questioned when he was stretched out on his couch, Caitlin was on the floor with her head resting against his knee. "Or are you going to spend the rest of the day shadowing me and being an incognito protection detail?"

Caitlin choked on her own saliva, her gaze darted briefly towards the glass panelling of his windows before she switched her attention to him and gave him a bright sheepish smile.

Barry resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Barry wasn't as naively oblivious as she thought. Sure, she was all tight-lipped about it, but he has enough resource to know that her babysitting duty was a part of protection details that Team Frost has compromised with CCPD and whatever division of national security Steve was from. There was no way that Barry won't be getting a protection detail. They all were still convinced that Iris was out for his blood after all.

A waste of time and ridiculous effort, in Barry's opinion.

He sincerely hoped that the sniper at the opposite building actually has time to sleep. It was concerning to see the guy remained awake and watchful every time Barry spotted a glimpse of him through his window. Poor national security guy was dispatched as Caitlin's backup for no reason.

Killer Frost wasn't going to cause any trouble in near future considering that Flash has summoned the full force of his manpower to deal with the sudden threat of their Earth.

Barry praised his luck to be born in the Earth that was not the target of curious aliens.

He was so lucky that the weirdest thing ever happened to his Earth was metahumans. No curious aliens that wanted to poke around Earth just because one crazy speedster decided that he wanted to own the world. It was extremely amusing to hear Savitar ranted for straight two hours about his (supposedly) rotten luck to be resurrected from literal death by insane doppelganger whose life goal was to cause prolonged headache and stress to him.

It was amusing, but the threat that concerned the scarred speedster was very much real.

From the little information that Barry could understand from the speed-rant, Savitar stopped sulking because a bunch of aliens from multiple realms has approached him to request a meeting with the Flash to sort out a peace treaty. That was no courtesy right there. The aliens were concerned with their own safety after noticing Flash's ruthless world domination on Dark Earth.

The Flash was considered a major threat to the universe that aliens all across the galaxies came poking their ugly heads down to Dark Earth to observe the situation.

Yep. A bunch of alien invasive force approached Savitar first because they were scared shitless to face Flash up front.

Man, what a reputation his doppelganger had…

Which mean that Barry might have to consider another safehouse just in case he needed to relocate if intergalactic war broke out on Dark Earth because of Flash's stubborn cockiness.

 _What a hassle…._

"We could do something else if you want?" Caitlin looked up to meet his gaze, her cheek was pressed against the edge of the couch, her words came out with her barely concealed yawn.

Barry noted the lines of exhaustion on her face, the dark curve on the skin beneath her eyes and the way her eyes seemed duller than usual. She hasn't been sleeping much, probably only have as much sleep as the guy at the opposite building had—which wasn't much since Barry didn't think that the guy ever slept—if their constant texting was any indicator.

Did she honestly think that Barry has never been bugged?

His family was famous enough to have people wanting to bug them for a sliver of information to bring them down. Plus, it's not like Henry Allen was as likeable as his son. There was a good deal of people who hated his father—something that Barry never understood until he reached the age of teenagehood. Barry was an obedient perfect child, therefore when his old man trained him at an incredibly young age to locate bugs and destroy them, he simply followed without question.

By this age, Barry was well-versed with the knowledge to debug his own house, as well as the necessary skills needed to turn the tables on the people who tried to spy him.

Did they even know that he has paired _his_ phone with theirs and has been reading on their texts since Day 1? No, Barry didn't think that they notice.

Oh, the perks of being harmless civilian.

Barry quirked a gentle smile and tossed one of the cushions to her lap.

"Go to sleep, Cait," he said, fixing the pillow he had propped on the armrest and made a show of waving his phone in front of her face, the page was showing the bookmarked page of his latest reading endeavour. "There's a futon somewhere in the linen closet. You can sleep here. I'm not going anywhere, so if anything happened, you can still be my knight in icy armour."

She laughed and elbowed his thigh. "I don't wear armour."

Barry scowled. "Can you please appreciate my attempts with wordplay?"

Her laugh was more light-hearted when she got up to retrieve the futon. There was a hint of heaviness in her footsteps, but her smile was genuine when she spread the futon across the floor and stretched out her body. She yawned again, blinking tiredly at him. She looked cute—like a sleepy cat—despite the dark circles under her eyes and the dullness of her exhausted eyes.

"Don't go anywhere," she warned, her sharp manicured nail inches from his cheek. "I'm gonna nap for half an hour."

"Geez, Cait. I can't even properly button my shirt," Barry muttered, getting cosy against the pillow. "What can I do that would be remotely life-threatening?"

Caitlin shuddered. "You have horrible track record on getting into troubles…"

"I did not."

"Do you seriously want me to list it down?" Caitlin rolled her eyes to the side, looking completely unimpressed when she focused her glare on his bedazzled cast. "Starting from Woodward's assault to your current injury…," she scowled, obviously not happy with his track record. "You don't have a clean record when it comes to life-threatening situation."

Barry opened his mouth to retort, only to close it again when he has nothing good to offer.

Caitlin's smile was impossibly smug when he remained in his defiant silence.

"Stay there," she commanded, her eyes briefly flickered to the wide glass panelling of his walls. "Wake me up if anything remotely suspicious happened."

Barry wondered if she was talking to him, or to the poor guy who was listening in via the bug in her hair clip.

"Go to sleep, Cait," Barry growled, tossing yet another cushion to her. "I'm just gonna stay here and read. That is hardly life-threatening."

She huffed, her nose scrunched up adorably.

For some odd unknown reasons, Barry really wanted to pet her. Or bop her scrunched up nose. She was so cute. What the hell.

"It's nice to have a peaceful morning," she slurred, after few good rolls around the tangles of cushions and blanket. "Nothing can ruin this peace."

Barry now found it even harder to resist the itch to pet her. His hands occasionally twitched, wanting to thread his fingers in her soft-looking hair, longing the good ol days when he often spent peaceful lazy mornings like this by playing with Iris' hair. Iris has nice hair, albeit she has changed it from her genetically curly hair. Not that it mattered. Barry loved it anyway. He used to be fascinated with how soft Iris' hair was, and how silky smooth it was as they slipped through his fingers. He remembered _his_ lazy peaceful mornings back then. Mornings like this were often accompanied with laughter because Barry's continuous failure in the most basics of hairstyling back then never failed to invoke laughter from Iris.

Barry pursed his lips.

The memories made his heart ached, a lump made its presence known in his throat.

He hated how easy the memories of the good ol days could make his heart ached, despite the fact he has Iris' corpse as literal house décor and felt nothing every time he walked passed her. These memories were poison to the health of his mind.

Caitlin mumbled something, already half-asleep by this point. Barry smiled at her prone form, noting that she has the habit of rolling around restlessly all over the futon as she fell asleep. Her hair splayed across the futon, a striking red against creamy softness as she finally settled to lie on her side, curled up to a ball with the cushion and blanket tangled between her limbs.

Barry's lips quirked to a smile. "Cute," he murmured, leaning over her and reached out a hand to brush her hair out of her face.

He wasn't expecting the loud noise that caused her to jolt up and bump their heads together.

"Argh, fuck, ouch," Barry found himself losing his own word filter, one hand rubbing his abused forehead, all the while internally cursing whoever that called her this early of the morning.

If he had a bump or bruise out of this, she would never let him live this down.

For the record, she has impossibly hard head, and that was the most painful headbutt that Barry has ever experienced. And he has experienced _a lot_. He was no stranger to pain. Frost must have been lying when she said that super strength wasn't her thing. This was super painful. Ouch.

"Barry...? Are you okay?"

Caitlin wore an expression of confused worry on her face, looking like she was torn in checking on Barry or answering her call. Barry grimaced and waved her away, signalling that he was okay. He didn't need any more babying from her.

She gave him an apologetic smile but hurriedly answered her phone; "Ollie! Hi!"

She went silent after that. Her smile faded.

"Yes? What, sure."

Barry stopped rubbing his forehead upon noticing the way Caitlin's face has morphed to confused frown, shifting to worried grimace and eventually to grim seriousness that she only displayed when they faced a particularly dangerous threat.

That did irk Barry a bit. Usually, only Scarlet Ripper was able to coax that grim expression from Caitlin Snow.

Who dared to steal his privilege of pissing off his favourite nemesis?!

"Sure, I'll help," Caitlin murmured, shooting occasional glances in Barry's direction. "No, no, no, it's completely fine, Ollie. We have each other's back," she assured, smiling kindly even though it won't be seen by the caller. Caitlin's face made that unsure expression again, her teeth nibbling nervously on her lower lips as she meekly asked, "Would you mind if I try to bring in some back up, though? This sounds serious."

Barry tried so hard to stop the annoyed scowl from emerging on his face but instead schooled his face to one of concerned confusion.

Caitlin's voice suddenly grew softer, and she went on talking for a couple more minutes, making an obvious effort to hide most of it from Barry's hearing. After what it seemed like an agreement for a meet-up, Caitlin finally hung up. She turned around to face him, her face was a complete devastation while she had one hand threading through her own air, looking like she just received a world-threatening news.

"What is it?" Barry asked, curious now.

He didn't like the resigned expression on her face at all.

Caitlin exhaled a shaky breath; her shoulders trembled, and the smile didn't reach her eyes at all.

"Aliens," she deadpanned.

Silence.

"Aliens," Barry repeated blankly.

"Yep."

"Seriously?" He exhaled in utter disbelief. " _Aliens?!_ "

Caitlin gave him a resigned smile and nodded exasperatedly.

"We have an incoming alien invasion," she sighed, slumping back to the futon in a delirious laughter. "So much for a peaceful morning," Caitlin crowed, sarcasm and bitterness dripped from each syllable.

Barry, on the other hand, was so done.

* * *

 **A/N: A lot of exposition in this one. The alien invasion kinda needed to happen, because of...reasons. lol. Plus, the information that Nat found was not entirely fake, so...how many of you had the hunch that Scarlet Ripper's first victim wasn't the first blood in Barry's hands? And I told you Emmy and Rod has much bigger role to the plot.**

 **And I swear that the use of Marvel characters has saved me from googling up good names for the special division characters. Apart from Albert (whom I replaced with Steve) I legit used Agent A, Agent B, and etcetera in my original outline. All hail the Avengers. (No, they are not known heroes in this one if you're wondering. Just a bunch of strictly trained personnel.)**

 **Anyway, I had to admit that this ain't my favourite chapter to write. But, it was important for my planned plot regardless. I hope you enjoyed it, though.**

 **See ya next update~ I appreciate your thoughts.**


	14. Aliens

**A/N: Un-betaed. Probably never gonna be edited because my real life is growing hectic. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

"Barry, you're adorably insane."

Barry grinned. It was not the kind of good-natured grin he often displayed around Team Frost, but the kind of impish grin that made his companion instantly prayed that Hanukkah was not cancelled. Really. That grin was the premonition of ruined festivities.

She then half-heartedly tossed a sugar packet in his direction as a silent berating.

Barry laughed.

"I'm serious, dum-dum," she flicked another sugar packet at him. "You actually have friends this time around. Can you please bring an _actual_ plus-one?"

"Hey, Charlotte is a perfect dame," he giggled, slipping easily to the light-hearted tone of comfortable familiarity. "Do not insult my lady, Felicity."

"You do realise that you're going straight down the path of bestiality, right?" Felicity huffed, albeit a bit half-heartedly as an exasperated smile appeared on her face right the next second.

"What's new?" Barry smiled, all innocent and sunshiny.

He received a powerful slap to his left arm for that.

"Charlotte is _a dog_ , Barry," Felicity pouted, seemingly like she was trying to stab her coffee with the spoon. "You're going to bring a formerly abused pitbull as your plus-one to my boyfriend's gala. What the hell, Barry?"

"I've been doing that for years," Barry shrugged, wrapping his fingers around the mug to warm himself. "And she's doing better with people."

"If she bites anyone—"

"She won't," Barry interrupted before she could even finish talking. "Plus, some of the girls in the shelter would enjoy a night-out. What kind of a man I would be if I didn't take them out for a fancy date?"

"Ugggghhhh," she groaned, tilting her chair back till it was balanced on two flimsy legs, hands thrown up in the air. "Get yourself a new girlfriend, Barry."

Barry grimaced, his hand itched to destroy the little bug in the folds of his collar.

Felicity Smoak was not a tactful person.

"Ow, Felicity," Barry sighed mournfully instead, twisting his facial expression to that of an exaggerated wounded look, using his good hand to clutch on the crisp fabric of his shirt right above his heart. "You want me to replace my departed love so quickly?"

Credits to her, she hid her laugh in an acceptable guilty squeak. Her hand was stretched across the little table, grasping lightly on the wrist of his good hand. It looked like a comforting gesture, especially if you were watching from a far and all that you could see was this woman gently grasping the wrist of the friend that just received the brunt of her tactless words.

Her guilty facial expression sold the act too.

It was fairly difficult to make out the little taps of her index finger along his wrist if you weren't close enough.

"I'm sorry, Barry. That was tactless of me," she said, solemn and regretful, yet her fingers mischievously tapped;

 _Ears nearby?_

Barry quirked a gentle smile and laced her fingers with his, keeping them against his chest. He traced his finger along her palm, tapping his reply with a barely restrained eyeroll. _Ears everywhere._

Then, he faked a cough, his left hand let go of hers to support the "broken" one from his sudden movement, but he took the chance to tip his head towards the diner across the street. Felicity's gaze darted briefly to the wide glass window of the opposite diner, eyes skimming past the patrons and lingered just long enough on the only person who didn't seem like he belonged in the homey diner.

Barry shot her a warning glare when it was obvious that she was about to break into uncontrollable giggle right there and then.

Felicity Smoak tried to use the adorable puppy eyes at him.

It didn't work. Of course, it didn't. Barry was the patron saint of puppy eyes. She couldn't beat him at his own game.

She then rolled her eyes at him but seemed to comply to his silent warning. Squeezing his left shoulder once, she retreated to comfortably lean against her chair, busying her hands around the warmth of the porcelain mug instead.

"Must be nice to be followed around by so many dogs," she hummed, only the edge of her smirk was visible from behind the porcelain mug.

Barry's chuckle was low and genuinely entertained. "Yeah, it is," he grinned, smiling softly. "Felt like I had my very own loyal guard dogs. Although I don't own them."

The glint in Felicity's eyes were mischievously teasing.

"Barry, oh, Barry," she started forlornly. "My sweet innocent Barry boo…"

Barry has forgotten how much he hated that nickname until she used it again.

"Don't get dramatic with me, Felicity," he warned, voice stern and borderline crossing the line of threatening. " _No_."

As per usual, she ignored him.

"You're so likeable among animals but, you still can't bring a human as a plus-one to the gala…," she sighed. "What am I going to do with you, Barry?"

"Geez, what's with you and my plus-one?" Barry grimaced, honestly not liking the tiny twitch of her lips.

She was about to say something embarrassing that would probably made his security detail across the street to blush. He just knew it.

"I kinda feel sad because you don't have a date," she pouted, her gaze darted expectantly at the hunched man across the street in a way that made Barry instantly braced himself for her incoming blow. "Like, you're a really nice guy. Old-fashioned romantic on the outside, kinky freak between the sheets inside."

Barry's eyes widened.

Across the street, one of the patron has spilled his coffee all over his lap while a perfectly good grilled cheese ended up flat on the floor. Also, one fork was permanently embedded in the poor, poor, polished wooden table.

But, oh…Felicity was not done.

" _Felicity, NO_ ," Barry mouthed at her, shaking his head.

Felicity beamed at him—red-painted lips stretched wide to reveal her teeth.

"I mean, remember back in MIT? Wow, if only you were actually a student there….," she started to ramble, tapping meticulously on her phone that Barry had this distinct hunch that if the diner across the street had a security camera, the feed was already compromised. "Like, one would never know that you're such a devil unless they spent a hella lot of time attached to the hips with you."

The guy across the street has suspiciously frozen in place.

" _Felicity._ "

"I'm so delighted that I was assigned as your buddy back then," Felicity giggled, pointedly ignoring him, relishing the mortified horror on Barry's face and the stunned shock of the guy across the street with a delightful grin of her own. "Got more than I sign up for," she beamed despite his wide-eyed glare. "I thought I was assigned to this cute guy from Central, and boom, it was the prodigal genius who also was delightfully kinky dude."

" _Felicity Smoak_."

"Oh, Barry," Felicity sighed. "I particularly enjoyed our time together, boo. You showed me the very different perspectives of the most mundane of things~"

Barry grimaced, honestly grateful that they chose a secluded corner in the coffee shop. God, if this conversation was heard by the press, he would be neck deep in scandals.

Felicity enjoyed embarrassing him.

She leant closer, her smirk was wolfish and taunting.

Barry backed away till his back was pressed flush against the wood of his chair, his lips pulled back in an uncomfortable grimace. Nuh-uh. He ain't gonna bite her bait. Felicity rolled her eyes and pouted when he didn't react like she wanted him to.

That didn't stop her from continuing the embarrassment, though.

"And that pleasurable _lesson_! Remember when you crashed in my dorm for the whole weekend and no one noticed?" she grinned, eyebrows wriggled playfully. "The highlight of my university years, really. The long, painstaking hours on the creaky dormitory bed, getting you to get it _right…._."

Oh, how delightful of her to imply that painstakingly long weekends of hacking lesson as something remotely pleasurable.

Barry grimaced, shaking his head. That memory alone hurt his brain. Hacking was hard even if you have acceptable IT skills to survive in the world.

She pouted at him in return, winking back uncomfortably flirtatious.

"I'm extremely satisfied in the end, so it was worth it," she said.

"Oh my god."

"You're a fast learner, I give you that," she stated, like it was a perfectly normal thing to describe something that could be inferred as sexual in public places like this. "But do you have any idea how hot you were when you're angry and sputtering out swear words like it was your first language?"

Barry winced.

 _Fucking hell, Felicity. Have some mercy to my bodyguard, will you? Poor guy already turning into weird mix of pink and green._

"So fucking hot," she purred, and Barry almost pitied the guy who was listening in through the bug on his collar. "That long hours of lecture I had to endure for _my bed_ that _you_ break was so worth it."

 _Felicity, don't make my frustration-induced vandalism sounds like hardcore sex. What the hell woman._

"Does Queen know how much of a pervert you are?" Barry cut her off, attempting poorly to stop her from continue traumatising his poor security detail. "Because I think he needed to know that you're harassing one of his most important clients."

"Meh, go and complain to him Barry," Felicity shrugged, barely fazed. "I'm just gonna tell him that you used to fuck me through the dormitory mattress, then I might have to ask him if he would be interested in exploring his silent appreciation of your ass and if the three of us could have a wonderful threesome."

Barry winced.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, He rather took the Flash and Savitar both, despite how crazy and violently kinky those two were.

"What the hell, woman," he gaped, shaking his head at the image. "Queen is my business partner."

Felicity clicked her tongue, waving her index finger in front of his face in a patronizing manner. "One, drunk Oliver couldn't stop rambling about the sexy ass of that one famous brunette doctor from Central with mesmerizing green eyes," she grinned, and Barry suddenly had the needs to lean as far away as possible from her. "And two, think of the discount you can get for your next purchase if you joined our bed."

" _Felicity._ "

"Plus, your tailor did a fine job for your suit. Such a perfect view."

"What," Barry blinked in disbelief.

"Wanna see some of the pretty snapshots of your rear?"

"Felicity, what the fuck?"

One wary glance across the street showed Barry that his bodyguard was no longer visible from the diner's window.

Felicity's smile was positively devious when she offered her phone. Barry almost instantly cringed, half-expecting to see obscene paparazzi quality of his anatomy, only to be pleasantly surprised at the data displayed on her screen.

He has forgotten that she was the best hacker in the world and was very much capable to run a quick facial recognition and background check on his bodyguard right in the middle of their coffee date.

"Felicity," he sighed, lips forming a gentle exasperated smile.

"What?" she grinned. "You think I'd have pictures of your ass?"

"Well…"

"I still have the ones from back then."

"What—?!"

"I kinda like your nude better when you were much younger."

Barry took a few seconds to recover from that unwanted information.

"I was _nineteen,_ " he hissed, jaw barely slacked in mortified horror.

"You're already legal," she shrugged and sighed dreamily. "So cute and innocent and delightfully corrupt-able."

" _Felicity_."

"What happened to that innocent puppy?" she mourned, sniffling to her knuckles. "Barry, my boo, you grew up wrong."

Barry gaped, seeking for words of retort, only to let out choked incoherent noises instead. Why oh why his first was a shamelessly perverted dangerous woman?

"And wow, some of your loyal dogs have really interesting background."

That sudden shift made him close his gaping mouth to stare blankly at her, lips twitched to smile. That was the quickest transition from mindless perverted topic to topics that actually mattered he had ever seen her did.

"Can't expect all of them to live with rainbows and sunshine," he shrugged, the relief was evident in his breath.

Felicity was completely right, though. What an interesting background Agent Barnes had.

Huh, time to brush up his super rusty Russian. Not something that Barry was looking forward to, considering the number of beatings he used to receive while learning the language, but he had his fingers crossed that he could still dig out the old knowledge of the language from the depth of his subconscious.

If he could say one of the agent's passcodes, he would have one distraction in his arsenal. Lovely.

"By the way," Felicity said, lowering her voice to a mere whisper. "What about Frost? You're close to her. Why not her as a plus-one?"

Barry frowned, a bit taken aback at the sudden shift of the conversation. He instantly observed the foam of his coffee, making an exaggerated effort of admiring the colour as the cogs of his brain spun to come up with a reason he didn't ask Frost out. It would have been an easy choice, considering that they were professionals of the same field, and their connections could easily be explained without exposing her night job.

The answer was easy—the last time he agreed to date the woman who wanted to put him behind bars, it didn't end up well.

But, that wasn't a good answer, especially when he has a highly-trained secret agent listening in just across the street.

"I don't think she wants to be my arm candy for the whole night while I walked around pretending that I'm capable to socialize like a normal human," Barry eventually deadpanned, settling with the most honourable answer. "At least people wouldn't expect normalcy from the eccentric guy who brought a dog as his date."

Felicity crinkled her nose. "Hopeless."

"I'm a busy man," he shrugged. "It's hard to pick up a proper date when you're spending your time with terminally sick people, lab equipment and shelter animals."

He received a creamer packet to his chest for that.

"I still don't know how you manage your time," Felicity smiled, resting her elbows on the table so that she could lean her face against her palm. "In between your multiple jobs, your volunteerisms and your hobby—man, how do you even have a life?"

"That's the secret, Felicity," Barry grinned, being mindful of his cast as he leant over the table. "I don't have a life."

Felicity tossed another creamer packet at him. "Why are you like this…," she grumbled. "It has been months, Barry. Move on. Spare my heart from the pain of never being able to marry you off, will you?"

"Maybe I'll wait a couple more years," he grinned, half-teasing.

Okay, not really. He was kinda serious about that.

While it seemed like he has found a loophole to not be so down about Iris—which, as Savitar so helpfully pointed out that he wouldn't feel anything if he didn't consciously remember the good memories with her—he would need a hell lot longer time to fix his trust issue.

Not to mention that his biggest problem right now was that he might have grew fondness on Frost—who happened to be the number one person who wanted to put him behind bars at the moment.

Barry trembled as a heavy sigh escaped his lips.

He really has a kink on falling for his own nemesis, huh?

"You and your luck with women," Felicity hummed, and although her tone was casual, there was an underlying hint that she too was on the same line of thought of him. "You'd always ended coveting women who are a tricky match for you."

"Must be why we didn't work out," he retorted, scowling. "You're so easy of a match."

"Oooh, ouch, _dude_."

" You agree with everything that I'm interested in."

"Your mind is a fascinating nutcase, bruh," Felicity snorted, hardly fazed.

Barry cocked an eyebrow, lips twisted to a scowl—the unspoken _'oh, really?'_ translated to his facial expression.

Felicity's responding grin was devilish.

"Don't get me wrong, the sex was great," she purred, eyes closed obscenely. "And you knew how to treat your woman despite being completely and adorably innocent," she opened her eyes, brows wriggled playfully as Barry cringed away. "But, Barry honey-boo-boo, our chemistry is so good that I ended up seeing you as a little brother instead."

Barry stared blankly at her, torn in between gaping in disbelief or scowling at the offensive nickname.

" _Little brother_ ," he repeated.

"Yep."

"Yeah, Felicity. That'd make our youthful rendezvous less awkward."

"I regret nothing," she smirked behind her coffee mug. "If I'm still single or my boyfriend isn't a possessive guy with fetish of pointy sharp objects, I wouldn't mind a pleasurable encore trip down that memory lane."

Barry groaned and tossed a fistful of sugar packets towards her.

* * *

Being the only powerless man with nothing "useful" to bring to the table apart from his medical expertise should have made Barry felt insufficient standing in the same warehouse with the teams of heroes. Heck, considering that he was still faking a broken arm, even his medical expertise was useless. Barry was officially the most useless one out here in this Starlabs' warehouse-slash-hangar that they used as the rendezvous point for the anti-aliens meet up.

Logically, Barry should feel insecurely useless among these people.

Surprisingly, all that Barry could think of was to not laugh out loud.

Agent Barnes refused to meet his gaze.

The huge menacing man was so focused on counting the scratches on the plane next to him to even bother paying attention towards everyone else, even when Felicity halted long enough to stare at him as she made the headcount.

Barnes apparently didn't notice Felicity's pout when she didn't get his attention.

Must have been a blow of ego to her.

"Team SHIELDS is here," Felicity eventually announced, walking straight up towards the front where Barry was sitting, her skirts twirled as she spun about to locate the scattered wary teams of heroes. "Team Legends is here," she gestured towards Sara and her crew, "Team Arrow is also here," she nodded at the frowny Oliver, "…and finally, Team Frost," she giggled, voice a pitch higher as she squeezed hands with Caitlin and Lisa like they were a reunited high school BFFs.

Barry resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

You think that Barry was the two-faced enemy within the team? Felicity was even worst. She was the multiple-faced demon within two different teams of heroes.

"That's everyone, right?" she asked, looking at both Dr. Wells and Caitlin for confirmation.

"I presumed so," Dr. Wells smiled, relaying the question to Steve and Sara with a quick glance to their direction.

"All dispatched personnel are present and accounted for," Steve confirmed with a smile.

Barry noticed that Oliver flinched slightly in discomfort.

That reaction made sense. Both Team Frost and Team Arrow have a not-so-pleasant scramble with military in the past. And three out of the four present members of Team SHIELDS practically screamed military and danger through their demeanour. Their spartan discipline was prominent even with the easy smile on Steve's face, the unsure hunch of Agent Barnes's massive frame and the bored-out smirk on the redhead woman. Steve and Barnes themselves were intimidating even when they were standing harmlessly there, and the redhead petite woman made Barry flinched in discomfort even when she just stood there looking visually unarmed.

Barry has no idea why the twitchy greying man he vaguely recognized as Dr. Banner was dispatched with the deadly-looking team though.

"Nate and Amaya are back at the Waverider," Sara explained, a little bit more at ease and casual as compared to Steve. "They're newbies."

"And Cisco and Len are off—"

Before Felicity could finish talking, there was the ever-familiar burst of blue vortex, as Cisco and Len stumbled out with yet another familiar face that Barry regret to recognize.

It was weird seeing the alive version of the corpse he spent the last few months experimenting on.

Regardless, Barry admitted that Kara Danvers was still a beauty even when her heart was not in a decorative jar and her skin was a healthy glow instead of deathly pale of the corpse Flash has graciously gifted to him as a housewarming gift.

(Yes, Barry was awfully aware that Flash's intention was nowhere close as gracious and generous.)

(No, he was trying to gauge Barry's reaction and Barry has sure damn well passed that test.)

Such contrasting difference, yet the beauty still remains—a proof that beauty transcended through age and death. If she wasn't one of the people that would put him behind bars, Barry would've personally thanked her. The study he conducted on her doppelganger's corpse has helped immensely with his research and cure development.

Such a shame. To not know that the death of her doppelganger has contributed in the progress of saving so many lives on this Earth.

"Kara!" Caitlin and Lisa cheered, engulfing the alien in a tight group hug.

"So glad to see you two again," Kara giggled too, returning the hug, albeit with a more restrained force. Though, her smile faded right the next second, her voice was soft and heavy with guilt when she added; "I'm sorry about, y'know…," she struggled, tipping her head meekly.

"It's okay, Kara," Caitlin smiled, squeezing Kara's shoulder once and went for another hug. "Iris would understand. You need to save your own sister after all."

"I still feel bad," Kara whimpered. "Is she really, um, back…?"

Caitlin and Lisa nodded.

Barry, on the other hand, resisted the urge to snort. How the hell everyone seemed to eat up the drama Flash orchestrated without any doubts was beyond his thinking capacity. Nobody doubted those acts at all, despite the impromptu planning the whole charade was orchestrated.

Sometimes Barry wondered if there was any functional brain in the heroes' collective heads or if there were only a pile of lovey-dovey-friendship mush in there.

Queen cleared his throat from somewhere behind them. "Cait, I thought you said that you're bringing in an alien?"

"Oh, she is," Caitlin grinned, nudging Kara in the ribs. "This is my friend from National City—"

"Supergirl," Thea breathed out. "Ollie, you idiot. How could you not know about Supergirl!" she hissed, slapping on her brother's arm strong enough to make the man flinched.

"What?"

" _Supergirl_ ," Thea hissed viciously. "She is all over the net. A superhero like you and Caitlin."

"I don't spend my time googling other vigilantes on Earth," Oliver retorted, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "Star City and Central are already too much on our plate."

 _Same here, Queen._ Barry internally agreed. He too, hasn't been aware of the existence of a Supergirl on his own Earth.

"Oh, that's okay," Kara assured, waving her hand dismissively. "Like, National City is at the opposite end of the nation and you have lots of dangerous guys on your own city. I totally understand that you have no time to look up about me," she beamed, making a good impersonation of sunshine. "Anyway, I'm Kara Danvers, or also known in my city as Supergirl…," she trailed, hunching her shoulders as light flush spread up her cheeks at the intense stares she was receiving.

Silence. It was like everyone was stuck in a brain freeze, as maybe none of them could register the adorable meekness she displayed despite her powerful nightjob alias.

"That is a cool way to travel, Cisco," Kara randomly added when the silence grew awkward, nodding at Cisco.

Cisco grinned, beaming with so much pride at the compliment.

"We figured that if you fly here, it will attract too much unwanted attention," Len smirked, standing inches beside Heatwave—apparently, they have had their own reunion while everyone else was awed by the Supergirl. "And god knows what kind of hectic would it be if Ripper decided to bring in his friends to pick up a fight with us out of pure whim."

Barry's lips twitched to a smile.

"The cocky speedster would've done it without Ripper's interference," Lisa groaned, shuddering a bit.

Barry internally agreed. With his current stress level, Savitar would be all too happy to pick up a fight with Supergirl just out of random spite. He could blow off some steam in that attempted suicide, all the while annoying Barry and causing grief to the Flash in the same time. Win-win situation for Savitar.

Bless the aliens on the other side of universe for distracting that speedster.

"You know, Snow…," Digg muttered, exhaling a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "My life was somewhat normal before I know you."

Caitlin grimaced while few people burst out to loud laughter.

"Honest to god, kid," Digg continued, the exasperation grew along with his heavy sigh. "I used to fight normal criminals. Now we have metahumans, insane necrophiliac serial killer and aliens. What next? Brainwashed super soldier?"

Barnes visibly flinched while the rest of his team stiffened.

 _Huh. Interesting._

Felicity glanced in Barry's direction, smiling cockily.

Barry decided to not react so that her ego did not grow any larger.

He didn't react to the disappointed gaze and sulky pout that were directed in his direction either.

Barry was mid-assessing the way Barnes seemed to retreat from the laughing crowd to hide behind Steve when he felt a light buzzing against his right thigh—the subtle vibration of his untapped phone, the multiverse communicator. He grimaced at the timing. Being prominently sit out of any activities of the team, Barry was getting real bored at their small talks and self-introduction.

As all attention being diverted to the little circle Caitlin was doing to introduce Kara to the rest of the meet-ups, he checked the device. His brows shot up to his hairline upon reading the simple text from his doppelganger.

 _We do not take betrayal lightly. Remember that._

Barry was torn in between snorting a laugh or being concerned on what the heck had happened at the other side of universe that Savitar felt the need to warn him like this.

 _Savitar, wtf?_

He texted back, looking up as the girls were finishing up their rounds of introduction. Kara was currently striding around the scattered teams, spinning in a giddy excitement, her cape fluttered behind her, all the while she was beaming like a bright sunshine.

"So…let's see if I get this right," the super alien started, sounding too nervous unlike the woman who could very much smashed them all flat with one attack. "Captain Rogers," she said, pointing to the enormous man.

"Steve would be fine, ma'am."

"Alright!" Kara cheered, moving on to Agent Barnes whom seemed like he wanted to bolt out of there. "Sergeant Barnes…?"

" _Agent_ Barnes," he corrected, tensing like a coiled viper ready to spring for an attack.

Huh, jumpy guy. They put this guy as his security detail? Whose brilliant idea was that?

"Um, okay…," Kara wisely retreated, giving the man space and smiled at Steve's thankful nod. "Dr. Banner and Natasha?"

"That's me," the twitchy grey-haired guy waved while Natasha smirked. "Black Widow," the red-head announced, eyes leering playfully past Kara's shoulders towards Sara.

Oh, great. Good luck, aliens.

When the communicator buzzed and distracted him again, Barry was expecting another one of Savitar's uselessly cryptic quip. To his surprise, this one was from the other, more lethal and unstable doppelganger of his. Barry frowned. How the hell was he supposed to decrypt this series of numbers without attracting anyone's attention? Was it a coordinate? Did the Flash wanted a meet-up? What was going on that even the uselessly dramatic Flash went on the full-blown secrecy mode?

Barry hadn't had time to decide his next course of action when a loud giddy yell had him to almost drop the device.

"Hey!"

Barry promptly switched off the device and hid it when Kara twirled her way towards him. "Hello," he greeted, his smile was wary and a bit tensed.

He didn't know if Kara has mind-reading ability, because if she did, he was superbly fucked.

"You're Dr. Allen, right?" the alien's excited bounce instantly wiped that worry from his mind, making Barry to almost exhale a relieved breath.

That was, until he saw the way Kara's grip was crushing the edge of the table in front of him. Nope. Back to the panicked mode again.

"Yes?" Barry leant away, feeling slightly threatened at the display of her strength. "That's me?"

God, was she going to punch him?

"Oh my god, this is so cool!" Kara bounced, almost looking like she was about to clap and cheer, but she toned it down instantly upon noticing the stares she was receiving. "Look," she said in an almost hushed tone. "I worked for fashion magazine as a journalist and I have this side blog that I'm working on with my baby cousin."

"Um, okay…?"

"I mean, like he is your big fan. Really big fan of yours. He read all of your published works and studied hard so that he could work with you when he grows up," Kara started rambling, arms flapping nervously. "So, if you're okay with it, can like, we have a small interview with you? For our blog? I swear I have enough experience to not make the interview juvenile. We will not embarrass you, I promise. Please? Please?"

Barry's breath came out in a breathless laugh. "Sure," he nodded, still amused above all. "We can try to arrange something around our schedules."

"Great!" she cheered and leant close to kiss his cheek, something that he wasn't expecting at all. "I'll send you a formal e-mail later."

She could have just asked for his number and make it easier.

Barry told her this and she immediately spluttered, arms flapping in excitement as she bounced on her feet. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're so cool!"

Oliver groaned out loud.

"Can we get to the aliens, please?"

* * *

This place was not safe.

Someone within this team-up was not what they seemed. They have an enemy within their allies, he was sure about it. He didn't know who. Too many strangers here. The time-travellers, the arrow team, the ice team and Supergirl—he knew nothing about them beside whatever that he has read from their files. They weren't a threat—at least according to the files—but he couldn't be at ease.

He was being watched. He knew it. Someone was observing him.

The hidden knives in his vest seemed to burn for his attention.

There was a brief gentle squeeze on both his wrist and the back of his neck. A quick glance to his sides reveal both of his comrades, both grounding and comforting him. Barnes exhaled a deep breath, quirking a shaky smile to the forever-patient Steve, earning him yet another grounding squeeze on his wrist. Bratty Natty brushed the hair away from his neck, the texture of her gloves distracted him from the needs for his knives, grounding him in place as she stood on tip-toes to tie his hair back. She took far too long time on the task, her hands kept him in the present—another rare kindness of her part. He almost whimpered when those hands left him and retreated to her side.

She stepped closer to him though.

"At ease, Barnes," she murmured. "We're not in danger."

He trusted her judgement that there was no danger, so he forced himself to relax.

Frost and Arrow were leading the briefing, explaining about the aliens and the current plan of action. Barnes didn't bother to listen. There was nothing that Arrow was saying that he hasn't already known. Stark and Banner have briefed them about these Dominators long before they been dispatched here. The alien fleet was like a ticking bomb. They have been circling around Earth for the past few years that it wasn't surprising at all when they decided to attack right now.

Barnes risked a glance at the Target.

The Target was his primary mission, and although his range of 'protect' has widened to the whole world upon the current crisis, his top priority was still Dr. Allen. He kept his watchful gaze on the Target, seeing the shadows of alternate future for Steve in the man, if only the accursed accident never happened.

The thought of that accident had his brain screeching at him, pulling out memories after memories of Steve's assuring words that it wasn't Barnes' fault he ended up serving the people in completely different path than his childhood dream. He tried to shush his agitated brain, because regardless of what Steve said, it was still his fault. Barnes vaguely remember the excited chatters of his old friend as they browsed through the list of the medic courses Steve wanted to enrol in once they graduated high school.

Too bad he had to be infected by Barnes' fucked up blood.

Barnes' face made a weird expression he didn't know how to describe, eyes narrowed towards the Target.

If Target has blond hair and blue eyes, it was so easy to imagine him as Steve.

That annoying little punk Steve who remained in normal-not-enormous-size and was way out of trouble that could kill him. Right. The one who knew he couldn't win a fight and didn't have the strength to punch his way out of all troubles he got himself in. The nerd one who multiple times dragged Barnes into trouble by spending the whole night in the library, browsing and reading through all those complicated books about medics and diseases. That version of his Steve and not this one who only have fights and brawls in his stupid reckless head.

Perhaps because of the intensity of his stare, Target lifted his gaze up from the surface of the table to look at Barnes straight in the eyes. Barnes struggled to remain stoic, not wanting to look any more like a creep, but the Target smiled and waved at him—looking very much like Steve back then when he was still that annoying punk who got into troubles too big for him—and Barnes felt himself tentatively smiling back.

The Target impersonated a sunshine and beamed at him, making Barnes' brain to went haywire and screaming a chant of 'PROTECT PROTECT PROTECT' throughout the whole briefing.

He missed the orders and arrangements of the training, causing both Steve and Natty to frown at him as they nudged him to get into position.

Right. Practice. Aliens. Fight Supergirl. Focus.

Can he do cavity search on Smoak, though? Her words at the coffee shop earlier had Barnes really worried.

Distracted with his own thoughts, Barnes was considerably confused when he found himself stuck between Natty's legs and Canary's breasts as both of them had him pinned to the ground, with a long scorch mark just millimetres from his side.

"Focus, Agent Barnes," Canary huffed, rolling him around to hide behind one of the planes. "Supergirl is not going soft on us."

"Neither will the Dominators," Natty hummed, and Barnes couldn't help but wince at the sight of her awful little shockers thingies. "On the count of three, Canary?"

Canary grinned. "Please," she purred.

Barnes frowned.

Wait. When did they even have the time to form an alliance.

"Cover us, Barnes," Natty smiled at him, patting the rifle in his grip. Her smile turned to sultry smirk as she stalked from behind their hiding spot and growled to Canary. "Three."

 _Why did she growl. Why did Canary smile like that? What is happening. Steve, the women are being weird. Steve, help. We're in trouble._

Barnes didn't have the chance to yell for help because the pair acted right the next second, and he slipped into his obedient mode, knowing that he has a task to complete. Natty has given him the task to cover them, therefore, he kept his panic to himself, switching his mind to a blank slate. The rifle was a familiar presence in his hands that he didn't even need to think to use it. His body moved on its own, his shots were set to non-lethal parameters—even with the knowledge that his current bullets would do nothing to Supergirl—and focused on diverting the attention of the alien.

The steady flow of bullets and arrows from opposite ends of the hangar seemed to be enough to distract the alien—and even though the heat vision might have his nerves jumpy in panic when they grazed millimetres from his arm, it was very satisfying to see Supergirl halted under the shocks of multiple of Natty's little tasers. That satisfaction changed to surprise and horror when there was blasts of ice and gold out of nowhere, successfully knocking Supergirl's off her levitating balance. The assault continued as a red arrow exploded right at the alien's shoulder and stopped Supergirl from regaining her balance, allowing the Canary-Widow duo took the floor with impressive acrobatic lethal moves that brought Supergirl down with a crash.

Everyone froze.

Supergirl was a giggling mess underneath both women.

"That is so cool!" she wheezed, impersonating an excited puppy now when the pair rolled off her body.

"Astonishing," Firestorm breathed out, landing the closest to the pile of females as they split back into two.

Barnes related so much with the younger Firestorm because he too, displayed the appropriate amount of worry and fear at Supergirl's lost. The woman has heat vision, super strength and could fly. Why no one else seemed to worry or display acceptable amount of fear to Natty and Canary especially after they brought Supergirl down?

"That," Spartan gaped, pointing to the dent on the floor where Supergirl was lying. "Did that—"

Steve was grinning, obviously still out of breath after being buried underneath a pile of blasted crates but it didn't dull the brightness of his stupid teeth. "Yep. That just happened."

If Steve was grinning, that'd mean the new alliance was not a trouble, so Barnes immediately lowered his rifle.

That was, until he saw the way Frost stalked towards Supergirl with her blue-painted lips stretched to a wide dangerous grin, white glowing mist swirled around her hands. Glider was strutting inches behind Frost, gold gun strapped to her swaying hip while Speedy took Frost's other flank, bow tucked to her side—they too, had the same grin.

Barnes shivered, his brain seemed to want him to retreat to the safest corner because it appeared that he was the only who has the mental capacity of realising the mistake they had done by allowing these women to team up.

Which was a huge thing, considering how much of his annoying brain actually resembled scrambled eggs at the moment.

He shot a desperate gaze towards his old friend, only to whimper in disbelief at the expression on Steve's face. Little punk looked like he just saw the love of his life and has fallen so helplessly in love.

 _Steve, why are you so happy_.

"We have been outdone, gentlemen," Cold drawled, leaning against Heatwave in what that seemed like the aftermath of a breathless laugh attack.

 _Cold, why are you laughing. This is not funny. It's scary._

Barnes wondered if normal human were naturally weird or, it was just Barnes' fucked head that made this situation so terrifying to him.

Heatwave had the same lovestruck expression as Steve too. Atom was wheezing and gasping in what that Barnes could identify as lack of oxygen that could possibly cause pain, but his eyes were shining brightly in awe. Even Wells, Vibe and Banner have shifted their attention from the blueprint they were studying, eyes equally wide as they gaped in disbelief though the gape shifted to smiles and grins right the next five seconds.

Barnes was considerably worried of the well-being of Banner's mind. Banner used to be the sanest out of his new comrades. Why was he not scared. Why was he grinning like that.

Thankfully, Arrow's expression was unreadable and Barnes deemed that expression as acceptable.

The women eventually were infected by Supergirl's giggling, and they were all smiles and giggles as they helped Supergirl up to her feet once again. Smoak called for a break, heels clicking as she rushed to join the group of females.

Barnes let his shoulders relaxed, retreating to the hidden crook between the airplane and the stacked wooden crates, needing the time to recover from the spike of adrenaline he was experiencing. He felt the concerned gaze of his comrades and opened his eyes to meet Steve's and Natty's gazes, nodding once to tell them that he was okay, and that he only needed a moment to gather himself. They nodded back, keeping a brief gaze on him before they were pulled again into the excited crowd while he retreated to curl behind the crates.

Barnes was wondering if it would be okay to curl up into a ball underneath the shadows of his corner while his nerves calmed down when his brain reminded him that he still has a mission.

The speed he peeked around the crates to look for Target would have been enough to impress Zoom.

The way his blood ran cold upon seeing the very obvious lack of Dr. Allen in the area would have impressed Frost.

But the panic, oh the panic at the lack of Target when he had this premonition that someone within the group was untrustworthy had him feeling a little ill in the gut. No one seemed to notice, or even bother that the weakest among them had went missing. The important man whose life was being threatened by more than one criminal was missing as they were all busy devising a new training course.

It freaked him out, his senses were on full alert, worried at the possibility of their team being compromised. The air suddenly felt thinner, rippling with heat and statics while the hair on his flesh arm stood at the oppressive atmosphere. It must have been that panic attack thing Flying Sam tried to coach him through, because he really did have difficulty to breathe right now. He tried to inhale deep breaths and count to five, only to have yet another spike of panic upon hearing the soft rustle of fabric moving towards his hiding place.

He turned around, knives ready to strike, only to freeze when he saw his target stood fearlessly before him, holding out a bottle of cool water.

Barnes gaped, robotically accepting the water. He kept a wary gaze on his target, wondering if this kindness was genuine, but Target simply smiled, nodding encouragingly until he has taken a sip, and beamed so brightly as if seeing Barnes taking care of himself has made Target very happy. Barnes eventually found himself mimicking his target's smile after he downed the whole bottle in one go, finally realising how parched the training had made him.

"May I sit?" Target requested, gesturing to the dusty cement next to Barnes.

Barnes frowned.

 _Why would he sit on the floor. Those expensive pants would get dirty._

But, he nodded anyway, unable to resist the charms of those green eyes. The Target reminded him of his old Steve—the _normal_ and NOT infected one, a comforting presence that made his brain screeching with the needs to protect. The air felt even weirder, so oppressive and suffocating, to the point that there was faint buzzing in his supposedly enhanced hearing.

The Target squeezed his flesh shoulder, smile all sunshiny and pleasant as he ran his fingers through Barnes' hair. He was so pleasant to be around that the string of words he whispered to Barnes' ear sounded like the most beautiful music Barnes has ever heard.

Barnes felt his mind shut down as he stared into the deep green eyes, a dopey smile grew on his face.

Passcode recognized. Mission override.

* * *

The first mission was utter chaos and failure.

At least if you're one of the heroes.

As for Barry, he suddenly had the deep understanding of his doppelganger's behaviour. He was so tempted to take a page out of Flash's book and brought a literal bowl of popcorn when the urgent message from the president caused them to break apart, before eventually ended up turning the heroes against one another.

Such as shame to see the Widow-Canary perfect duo being broken apart because of him.

It really warmed the cockles of Barry's heart when the alliance divided once the president revealed the aliens' demand for Earth to surrender Dr. Bartholomew Henry Allen to them. Team Frost and Team SHIELDS were adamant in denying the request, while Queen and Canary insisted on handing Barry over for the sake of the world. The argument grew heated in mere seconds—with surprising head-to-head packs' Alpha yelling match between Frost and Queen (and also intense death-glare match between Steve and Sara)—that ended up with the alliance breaking up.

By the time Felicity called out that the Dominators have the president hostage and demanded yet again for Barry to be exchanged for the president, Frost and Queen were glaring at each other like sworn enemies.

It ended up with Supergirl being the mediator between the two sides, resulting in the alliance to separate into rescue team and attack team.

That ended up with the rescue team being mind-controlled by the aliens.

So much drama in that fight. Frost, Glider and Kara—close friends forced to fight each other; Frost and Queen—poor Frost having to fight the man she considered as her mentor; Widow and Canary—their equal prowess in assassination was used against each other instead of complimenting each other; Len and Heatwave—long-distanced lovers going against one another…

So. Much. Drama.

The president was dead by the way. Not that Barry care of that, considering that he always thought a change of political power was necessary in the times like this. Plus, Barry finally understood Flash's cravings for popcorns every time humans' emotions being the main proponent in real life drama. This was very interesting to watch.

By the love of god, he was indeed Flash's doppelganger was he?

In the end, upon Barry's suggestion, Frost tag-teamed with Widow and Steve to manipulate Supergirl in destroying the aliens' mind-control device and had Team Arrow-Legends back to their right mind. The mind-controlled heroes reluctantly thanked Barry once they have the control to their right mind again, considering that he was the one suggesting the plan to save them. Though, it didn't reset the dynamics of the alliance to its wonderful comradeship during the first training. Frost was still seething and cold to everyone, especially to Queen; while Queen skulked around in the shadows, brooding alone. It was uneasy tensed environment, as they needed to learn to trust each other while simultaneously devising plans to face the incoming alien fleet.

Such a shame that Barry was enjoying their drama so much.

Queen probably thought getting on Barry's good side would help him rekindle with Frost because the man has strategically tried to isolate Barry from the rest of the alliance. Amused, Barry let Queen cornered him, wondering if he could kill two birds with one stone and had Queen distracted once they were through with this conversation.

"Thank you," Queen murmured once he had cornered Barry away from the exhausted crowd. The muscles of his neck were tensed, his jaw set to a grim line, eyes looking everywhere _but_ Barry. "And sorry, for suggesting to sacrifice you."

"You're just making a logical choice," Barry hummed, resting his back against the wall, his left hand automatically came up to cradle the one in the sling and kept it still and immobile as it was supposed to be. "One person versus the rest of the world? It wasn't even a question."

Queen predictably tensed, blue eyes stealing glances towards Barry.

It was so helpful that Barry himself was dishevelled—clothes in disarray and hair messy—having his own share of exhaustion after helping the genius team to construct the anti-alien device. After seeing its effect on the Supergirl, the mad scientists team consisting of Wells, Banner and Cisco seemed to have taken Widow's shock device as the basis and were trying to ramp it up and mass-produce it to kill the Dominators. Not that Barry was helping much to be honest—since it was so out of his field—but they allowed him to suggest input whenever he had helpful insights, all the while pretending that they weren't keeping him in the workshop as a safety measure because his bodyguard was busy with the rest of the fighters.

"I—," Queen choked on his words, his palm turned white around the glass he was holding. "Your works saved a lot of lives," he winced, neck muscles flexed in discomfort.

"It was a collaborative work," Barry interjected, smiling humbly. "I have lots of people working with me."

Queen was silent for a moment, as if he was trying to find his words without sounding too guilty. Not even six hours ago he was so adamant in sacrificing Barry, a mere civilian (as far as everyone was concerned), to the aliens. Yet, here Barry was, being extremely nice and understanding towards the guy who was so adamant in sacrificing him to the aliens. The guilt was eating Queen up, Barry could see it.

You think that superheroes didn't have big egos? Well, good luck with that.

Queen eventually settled with a soft;

"Rogers and Frost have a point. Who knows what they were going to do with your knowledge."

"You think they would hire me to cure alien disease?" Barry snorted, shoving his free hand into his pocket. "My specialty is humans' biology, not aliens'."

Oh, it was so much fun watching Queen struggled to not yell at him. No sane mind would think that the aliens would graciously hire him. They all assumed that Barry was going to be tortured if they surrendered him to the aliens.

And to think that half of the alliance wanted to sacrifice him…

Barry's amused giggles dissolved into a convincing breathless cough.

It must have been convincing enough, considering the sudden weight draped over his shoulders, and the scent of musky cologne that clung to the leather fabric has completely enveloped him. Queen kept his stoic gaze forward, looking like nothing had happened despite the evident lack of jacket on his massive frame.

Barry cracked a smile, murmuring a soft 'thank you' as he pulled the collar of the jacket tighter around his much smaller frame until his nose was buried into the fabric.

A light hue of pink crept up from Queen's neck to his cheeks.

Ah, wouldn't it be wonderful to tease the tough guy?

Thus, Barry curled in the jacket, pawing on the fabric until it was evident that his own cologne has left a prominent scent on the jacket. He glanced to his side, lips curled to a sleepy smile upon seeing the wide-eyed stare Queen was staring at him—there was something dark brewing in those blue eyes, so Barry shuddered and sighed loudly, nuzzling his nose to the fabric like a cat in heat.

He returned the jacket to the stunned archer with a gentle, perfectly innocent smile and another firm 'thank you'.

Queen nodded numbly, eyes fixed on the jacket as he seemed too lost in the depths of his own mind, completely not noticing Barry's departure.

Barry can now cross that one out of his need-to-distract-list.

Barry glanced at his watch, knowing that he has enough time to walk leisurely to his rendezvous point now that all of his potential hindrances were distracted. Queen was conveniently distracted with his own lust, the genius mad scientists were back in Cisco's workshop, the girls were in the hangar for extra training while Len and Heatwave have dragged the rest of the men for a drinking party. And even though Barry felt bad upon hearing the news, Steve was out of the picture too because there was no way in hell he was going to leave Barnes while he was writhing in the worst case of headache ever.

Satisfied with the solitude, Barry made his way out of their base and slipped into the darkness of the night, crossing the borders of the forest easily without anyone noticing. He ditched the cast once he was deep enough in the woods, using the mobility of having both of his arms to navigate through the thick shrubs and trees, leaving a prominent track behind him so that the team could follow him once they realised that he has went missing.

He knew that he has reached his destination when the darkness of the night was illuminated with a faint blue glow.

Of course, they were aware of his presence.

Massive yet light footsteps crushed the rug of leaves beneath their feet, and Barry promptly held his hands up to his chest, showing them that he was unarmed. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, calm and collected even when he felt the presence of five looming figures—easily doubled his size—surrounding him.

" _You came_ ," the one in-charge hissed in a shriek-raspy voice.

Barry opened his eyes and smiled gently at the alien. "You promise to leave Earth alone if I surrender."

The curl of the lipless mouth might have been a jeering grimace. It was apparent that they did not trust him at all.

Wise of them.

" _If you try anything…._ ," the one who spoke earlier hissed, voice tensed—and dare Barry said it, scared even.

Barry snorted. "What can _I_ do, o Dominator, sir?"

Shrieking. So many shrieking as the aliens communicated with one another using that foreign language, attracting the rest of the aliens towards them as they escorted Barry up the ship. He could feel the air pressure changing once they have taken off but have no time to revel in the change as he was led towards a large empty space. It was probably a gathering room, considering that aliens started to trickle into the room one by one, until the whole area was crowded with shrieking aliens.

Only the first five dared to stand in ten-metre radius around Barry, though. The rest kept their distance, their curiosity was prominent in the way they stretched their long necks to gawk at him, but the wariness was evident from the way they hissed and backed away whenever Barry so much as leaning towards their direction.

Barry flashed his teeth in a wide grin. "You have me now. Leave Earth alone."

" _No_ ," the first alien grimaced, sounding very much like he was trying to channel a semblance of intimidation. " _Not until you agree._ "

Which, wasn't working so well on Barry considering that he has survived befriending Flash and Savitar and was one of the few people who could smack the speedsters across the head with a rolled-up newspaper and got away with it unscathed. Honestly, Barry's standard of intimidation was impossibly high after all of that.

"Agree to what exactly?" He hummed, keeping his postures relaxed and open, the easy smile never left his lips.

" _We want you to kill the Flash._ "

Barry quirked a smirk, holding back a laugh, the device in his right pocket felt heavy and hot all of sudden.

After all, he just decrypted Flash's message—which despite the long series of numbers, was decrypted to a simple question made of only 5 words from his doppelganger;

 _I can trust you, right?_

Barry shoved his hands into his pocket, his right hand curled around the communication device tightly, his shoulders were straight yet relaxed as he smiled to the wary aliens. He tipped his head slightly to the side, lips curled to a bright smile that made some of the lesser aliens backed away as he spoke with a creepy child-like curious voice;

"Now, now…what has he done to deserve that?"

* * *

 **A/N: The alternate title for this chapter was "Sexual History and Orientation of Barry Allen."**

 **Lol. JK.**

 **On a more serious note though, this chapter is the set-up for the next trouble for Barry and also the stage for Rod and Emmy. Really, the aliens wanted him over the president of one of the biggest country in the world. And the last thing Barnes remember before he was manipulated was seeing Barry. You think no one is gonna be suspicious at that?**

 **And another reason I altered the plot to include Avengers because I need White Canary-Black Widow team up. I low key ship them together as one of my shameful crackship. They sit right next to Deadpool-Barry, Gideon-Jarvis and Felicity-Bucky in my list of shameful crackship. I could never be happier of substituting my generic OCs with a crossover characters, because Canary-Widow duo is so cool to imagine. Your disagreement is invalid.**

 **Also, heads-up. I'm heading to the crazy weeks called as Finals Week, so update may or may not be extremely slow. Just wanna let you know.**

 **P/s: Felicity was definitely Barry's first and still relishing the memories. Oliver was definitely lusting even more of that ass. And they both ain't gonna get what they lusted for. And yes, if you accidentally squinted hard in Barnes' POV and noticed anything about relationship dynamic between Steve-Bucky-Nat, it is probably true.**


	15. Dreams and Reality

**A/N: Un-betaed. Nauseatingly sweet moments. Probable triggering scenes of slight gore and abuse (if you squint). Insanity all around. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

A wise woman has once written;

 _"It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality."_

Well, she was damn right about that.

How could you kill the phantom of the reality that you so deeply coveted?

* * *

"Cute."

Barry held back a smile, pretending that he didn't hear that hushed giggle and remained completely motionless—years of practice made it easier, made it feel almost natural to not react to his senses. There was a fluttering touch trailing down the bridge of his nose, the warmth then rested on his cheek, soft palm curved flush against his cheekbone. A rustle, followed by a familiar weight right on top of him, the naked smoothness of toned legs pressed up against the length of his own as the hand on his cheek moved up to comb through his hair.

The sharp nails left dull pressure across his scalp, invoking a moan that he refused to let through his throat. He managed a soft sleepy grunt instead, sounding natural enough to continue on with his façade.

"You're impossible."

Or maybe not.

After all, the sulky comment came with a light slap across his chest.

The smile finally broke through his self-control, stretching across his cheeks till it hurt as he opened his eyes, making an exaggerated show of yawning. He laughed when the second sulky slap reached his arm.

"Jerk," she pouted, looking very much like an angry kitten—with dark eyes narrowed and nails sharp enough to leave marks on his arms. "Why did I marry you?"

"Hey, I did nothing, love," Barry retorted, barely stopping his laughter, his own fingers curled around her bare midriff just above the flimsy purple strap, the contrast of his skin against hers was visually pleasing to admire. "If anything, you're the one who bugged my beauty sleep."

"You're already awake. For _hours_."

"Oh, no. Why would I be awake at such ungodly hours on Sunday morning?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, deadpanning flatly;

"I can feel your stare, Barr."

"Pics, or it didn't happen."

Barry's smug smirk was wiped out when she reached over his head to snatch the pillow underneath his head and smack him right in the face with the fluffy pillow. Repeatedly, without mercy, until all that was left of him was a defenseless mess of a man slowly dissolving in laughter. When she was done, her warm weight was no longer on his lap as she stood on her knees, hovering over him, hands caging his head. The tips of her hair tickled his cheek, soft and smooth like silk curtain that separated them from the world, making her the center of his world.

God, he's the luckiest man on Earth.

He could only see her face like this when she loomed over him with that cheeky grin and eyes gleaming with fondness. Her lips were soft and sweet, playful and teasing, while her hands were firm clutching his jaw, her thighs were like a strong cage that rendered him utterly helpless—not that it was anything new since she was one of his weaknesses after all.

Barry grunted, arms reaching blindly to pull her flush against his body. By the time he managed to do so, her legs have claimed the mobility of his own—their limbs and sheets tangled in a mess. Her fingers have found his scalp again, raking the manicured nails mercilessly over the back of his head, occasionally tugging on his hair.

When they finally parted, her breath was warm stuttering mess against the side of his neck, her body stretched atop his own as she tried to suffocate him with her deadly hug.

"Good morning, Barr," she huffed, head shifting so that her nose was tucked right under the sharp angle of his jaw, lips peppering gentle kisses down the length of his throat, one of her hand rested over his chest right atop his beating heart.

Barry glanced in her direction, lips curled into a lazy smirk that turned to playful grin when she squirmed and wriggled on top of him. He grinned wider upon seeing her scowl, slipping his other hand under her undone robe to trail teasing path along her naked sides. Her sides were ticklish, allowing him to easily render her into a breathless giggling mess. She has never been able to remain in control when he used that against her.

It was a fun game, to see how long she was able to resist from making any undignified noise and when she did…

Barry went for another kiss, swallowing the tiny squeak she reluctantly gave up. She would slap his chest again—oh that was given, and he deserved it—her face twisted to adorable scowl while he would grin and hum cheerfully;

"Good morning, Iris."

And he knew that the day would be a good day.

* * *

The human underestimated them.

Perhaps it was the natural arrogance of mankind, or maybe it was the natural arrogant tendency of all Barry Allen, but the human was completely not expecting their plan. It was risky and reckless because they have no idea how _this_ Barry Allen would react. He didn't seem like a combatant—he was a mellow human, after all, always avoiding physical confrontation—but this man also was one of the few who could defy Flash and got away with it without anything more than an annoyed scowl.

Xozhen initially refused to tread the idea of looking into Dr. Barry Allen's mind.

Too risky. Too dangerous. They have no idea what to expect, or what kind of failsafe security measure Flash has ingrained in the mind of his human doppelganger to protect whatever secret that would be the foundation of his fall—secrets that only the speedster's personal doctors would know. For all that they know, the metagene in the human's body could've been triggered if they probed the wrong way, thus causing them to face another unknown threat.

Unknown threat on a spaceship floating above the most amusing team-up of heroes one has ever seen? That was not a desirable situation at all.

But the idea of having the abomination to remain existing, to let Flash dangled that threat of domination on Xozhen own's race has caused unease and sparked courage in the alien. The multiverse was an ancient knowledge of the galaxy races, especially an old race like Dominators themselves. They were aware of their own doppelgangers. They kept track of each of their alternate universes and kept track of some of Earth's own, simply because Earthlings was a destructive race and one could never be too cautious.

The day Dark Earth solidified as a permanent alternate reality in the plane of Earth's multiverse was the day of fear and panic.

Wrong. Everything on that reality was wrong. It was an abomination—like the essence of evil that was supposed to be eradicated from Earth's multiverse has combined in one place and formed a new reality. The humans on Flash's close ranks were supposed to die in their own reality but Flash saved them all. He took them just before their eventual fall, some were reset to the state where their bodies were less broken—time and reality was being recklessly manipulated for the speedster's personal benefits.

The few months of observation following the event has reported on the continuous recruiting of dangerous humans into the Flash's rank. The speedster acted like he was preparing for another war.

There was no hesitance afterward. The threat needed to be eliminated.

Xozhen leaned over the control table, looking through the memories that they managed to extract from their prisoner. This version of Barry Allen was terrifyingly difficult to breach. He was a mere normal human, but something about this human was strange, invoking unease to the team tasked to probe his mind, despite him being unconscious throughout the whole process. They have knocked him unconscious and ventured through the depth of his mind, but the only thing they could access were his dreams and desires of the past few years—nothing that was remotely helpful to eliminate the man's deranged doppelganger.

It was like majority part of his memories were sealed shut even to Xozhen's advanced probing technology.

So, they chose a different way to gain information. Lower the man's guard through the illusion of his deepest desire. Manipulate Dr. Allen's love for Iris West to gain intel. Human's needs for attachment was one of the easiest things to manipulate, considering that they would do anything for those whom they were attached to. Dr. Barry Allen was no exception.

Xozhen fiddled with the controls, selecting whatever few memories they managed to access so that they could create believable reality for their subject. There wasn't much, to begin with, but it was a start. The bits and pieces of the peaceful loving days of the couple were useful to set up the illusion, but they needed more, they needed so much more than Iris West—

The console beeped, and the hologram pulled up an image, along with a fragment of memory they managed to access. The brain activity response to that particular memory showed a surge of chemicals attributing to affection and fondness, even more than the human's response to his former fiancée. Whoever this child was, Dr. Allen loved her more than Iris West.

Xozhen played the strongest piece of memory linked to the child.

 _"Yeah, I'd love a daughter too."_

Dr. Allen has said that at the same time this image flooded his mind and disconnected his reality from the mute girl he had held captive. He was thinking about this human child while fondly mentioning a daughter—such vivid image has destroyed his awareness of his surrounding at that time. Young Emmy could've used this moment to escape and Xozhen was sure that wouldn't even notice. It was amusing how often this human dissociated and went into a melancholic journey in his mind and no one around him seemed to ever notice.

Xozhen tipped its head, staring at the image contemplatively.

Humans were known to dream of their future younglings after all...

The gigantic alien then inputted a new character into the forming illusion.

* * *

"Barry, stop."

The stern tone would've been enough to stop him, especially when it promised a long day of sulky silence, but Barry grinned instead and buried his face against her skin, lips trailing kisses everywhere on the smooth plane of her stomach. She squirmed underneath him, her giggles turned to short breathless gasps by the time he dragged the rest of her untuck top up using his teeth, exposing her midriff to the cool air.

"Barry," she squirmed, thighs buckled together and trapped him between her legs. "Stop it—"

Her giggles were so beautiful that he found no desire to stop molesting her sensitive torso.

He pinned her hands onto the floor after her squirming started been accompanied with desperate pushes.

He was in honeymoon mood for fuck's sake. Let him enjoy it while it lasted.

"Barr," Iris growled, seemingly like she was considering kicking him off, toes pressed dangerously threatening against his hips, too low for comfort. "Come on, don't be a child."

Barry promptly collapsed, letting his body slouched and heavy atop of her. "Don't wanna," he whined, arms coming around to wrap around her waist.

"God," she sighed, exasperated. "You're overly affectionate today, Barry."

He went silent, cheek pressed up against her warm stomach, honestly not wanting to let her go just yet. To be honest, he did feel unlike himself ever since he woke up. He woke up to the screech of his own mind, who demanded him to wake up from this dream. It was loud enough to convince him that the legends of prodigal genius like him would eventually suffer a mental issue was very much real, and he was going towards a life with a second voice in his head now. It was weird, his mind kept chanting this wasn't possible in the first place—to have Iris tucked warmly in his arms—but it was the reality he woke up in, the very one that his heart claimed as truth.

It was far more logical than the other reality his brain seemed to be attached to.

Why the hell would his mind think that 'reality' was a life as a serial killer who has a disturbing task of being the mature one among his own deranged doppelgangers from parallel universe in a dramatic chaotic life; as opposed to waking up being married to the love of his life and led a relatively peaceful happy life.

Come on, one of the two was downright mouthful, bizarre and illogical.

But his mind refused to cooperate and demanded him to wake the fuck up. It was shrieking. His mind was actually shrieking at him like it was a separate entity, demanding him to wake up to the real life.

Barry sent a mental middle finger to his own mind.

He's awake. He's married to Iris. He's happy with the modest lifestyle living in a nice white picket fence house of American dream. This was the real life, therefore…

 _Brain, shut the fuck up._

His brain reacted with what he could describe as pterodactyl screeches—loud, annoying and painful—all the while pulling out disturbing images of mutilated corpses and the feeling of ecstasy he was supposed to relish to the images.

Barry briefly wondered if he needed to make an appointment with a psychiatrist because this was not normal.

"At least call your mom and dad and tell them that we will be late to pick her up," Iris grumbled but no longer resisting, if the fingers threading through his hair was any indicator.

There was a pang in his chest upon the mention of his mother, but he ignored it, not knowing why he was supposed to feel sad and angry upon the mention of her. He blamed his screeching mind for that and decided to shut the unwanted emotions out. He wanted to enjoy this calmness a little longer, without the voice in his head manipulating his emotions. Thus, he blocked the image his mind was trying to show to him, refusing to acknowledge the sightless eyes of his mother that were staring up at him.

That wasn't real. His mother was still alive, and literally lived 30 minutes away from him—15 minutes if the traffic wasn't being an ass.

That wasn't real.

Iris sighed when his silence remained, seemingly to detect his distress. Her fingers gently pulled him up so that she ended up tucked against his neck, her lips found the length of his throat again—peppering gentle soothing kisses all over his skin, her hand reached up to comb through his hair. He let her pick on the collar of his shirt, face burrowed in the soft thickness of her hair, indulging the comfortable silence a little bit more before they had to get up for the day.

"You know that you can talk to me, right?" she murmured, her breath was warm against his ear.

Warmth. Yes, this was the reality. Nobody died here.

His mind denied it, though.

"It's nothing," he grumbled, nuzzling his nose to her hair. "Just…," a long exhale of exhausted breath, and one glance towards the worried gaze of his wife, Barry immediately cracked a tiny smile. "Just weird stuff my mind came up with."

"I'm up for weird," she hummed, the scratch of her nails against his scalp felt extremely good. "Tell me, love."

Barry wondered why she was so excited to know what his weird mind was thinking.

"I dreamt I have supervillains doppelgangers."

A beat of silence, then; "Wow."

"Yep," he agreed lazily. "I also happened to be one of their doctors and I kid you not those bastards are the worst patients in the history of bad patients."

Iris was silent for a moment, as if she was thinking on a response, thus Barry took her silence to snuggle against her head, wanting the comfort of her scent.

"If they annoy you so much, why not you get rid of them?"

The detached voice of his mind screeched at that unexpected question, while a searing pain spread from his temples to every single part of his head. He whimpered, burying his face in her hair—the pain was so mind-blinding that he barely heard her voice continued asking theoretical questions on how to get rid of his supervillain doppelgangers.

She sounded oddly excited, as if she was oblivious to his obvious pain.

"Iris," he gasped, voice straining. "I can't kill them just because they annoy me."

"Why not?"

Was that him, or there was a hint of scratchy tinge in her voice?

 _"I can trust you, right?"_

Wait, what was that?

Whose voice was that?

"I'm a doctor, Iris," Barry whined, completely ignoring the disembodied voice that sounded eerily like his own despite something within him knew that the voice wasn't his. He blinked the pained tears from his eyes, murmuring sternly, "I don't kill people."

Something within him knew that was a lie too.

Barry grunted, the blinding pain had his vision tinted with dark spots, his mind threatened to shut down— _and wake the fuck up from this reality._

It seemed that was the moment when she finally noticed his pain.

"Crap, Barry!" Iris shouted, fumbling around to lay him comfortably on the carpet. "I was…I didn't know," she seemed lost of words, hands reaching out to his own—when exactly has he started clutching his own head?—but she changed her mind and settled to massage the back of his neck instead. "Oh my god, Barry, I'm sorry. I don't know that it will hurt you."

For a moment, he felt like he was on anesthetic, as glimpses of a sterile room with glowing walls shadowed his comfortable living room, making it seem like two images being stacked on one another. Iris was calling out for him, but at the same time, he heard intelligible shrieks too.

God, his head hurt.

Barry heaved a heavy breath, his vision clearing up as the pain receded to mere throbbing in his temples. He let Iris fussed over him, wondering what the heck just happened and how much of those came from the stress of his heavy workload and how much of those were his brain going insane.

"My mind is fucked," he grumbled, nuzzling his face to the curve of Iris' palm, eyes closed in exhaustion.

"Being a genius has a downside too, huh?" she teased, grinning upon seeing his scowl. Oh, she enjoyed equating his brilliance with madness, claiming that she was counting the days he would go all mad genius mode.

She watched too much crap on the TV that he was considering on banning all of those useless shows from his household. Those shows rotted human's brain after frequent exposure.

She had argued that it sparked creativity and not entirely brain-rotting, but that was an argument that Barry didn't want to go through again while he was in this lazy honeymoon mood. That argument alone took out a huge chunk of their weekend date back when they were just trying to get to know each other. He wanted to spend this weekend cuddling his wife damn it, not arguing about the educational value of stupid TV shows.

"I'm cancelling all of your subscriptions of those stupid shows."

"Do it and you'll sleep on the couch."

Barry's scowl was returned with a defiant glare from Iris.

Iris wiggled her brows, grinning all too smugly. "Do it," she challenged. "Cancel my subscriptions if you dare."

Barry closed his eyes in defeat, grumbling under his breath;

"Why do I marry you?"

Iris' retort was interrupted before she could even open her mouth.

Their doorbell rang, and just when Barry was about to cuss the uninvited interruption, the knob jiggled and clicked open. The frantic scuffles at the door were loud and clear even from their location—loud enough that Barry shot a confused frown towards Iris. He wasn't sure if he should be concerned or not at the sudden interruption.

"Hey, do not run in the hallway—"

There were high-pitched giggles, followed by light footsteps tumbling down the hallway, and a blur of bright purple bounced off the floor to crash right on top of him and Iris, chubby little arms clung to his neck tightly as Iris' arm came around to cuddle them into a ball of warmth.

"Daddy~!"

Barry felt cold.

He stared at the giggling child, his body was heavy and frozen in shock, his mind has officially short-circuited, and he was sure that his face was completely drained of blood by this point.

 _Impossible._

The screeching voice in his mind purred smugly;

 _I told you so._

* * *

"You're horrible, do you know that?"

"Why, thank you for the compliment, love."

"Ain't a compliment, jerk. You messed with his head. That is straight up breaching his trust."

"Failsafe security, babe. Failsafe security."

"And he didn't even know it."

A casual shrug and sardonic smirk, followed by a thud as a gigantic alien fell onto the floor with a hole in its chest.

"Better safe than sorry."

He received a mangled scowl for that giddy comment.

"Don't come whining to me when he retaliates, asshole."

* * *

"Barr?"

Barry held a hand in her direction, not wanting her close. When she tried to reach out to him, he backed away to the wall, his chest heaved heavily, his lungs were hurt and strained—it felt tight and suffocating no matter how hard he tried to inhale a deep breath—and his heart, god his heart was beating so fast it felt that his ribcage was about to burst.

"Henry, help—" Iris fumbled with her words, inching closer to him but Barry heeded her no mind.

He barely heard her voice—what with the deep ringing in his ears and the screeching of his own voice in his head—as images upon images flashed through his eyes like some morbid movie.

Red. Red. Red. So many red.

The bile rose up to his throat. He swallowed it, stomaching the nausea like a trained reflex.

"Daddy?"

He blinked the wetness away, looking into the wide freckled green eyes— _his mother's eyes, **his own eyes**_ —and felt his breath stuttered, picking up an erratic pace. He didn't realise that he was gasping and choking, body trembling and quivered like a leaf against autumn wind—and when the child tried to reach out to him, his teeth clenched into a tight vice, shying away from her touch.

"Grandpa?" the distressed voice sent a painful stab to his chest, causing his body to jolt and pressed even closer to the wall, his arms wound tight around his own torso. "Momma, what's wrong with Daddy?"

 _Wrong wrong wrong wrongI'mnotyour—_

 _Told ya to wake the fuck up._

The voice in his head sounded oddly calm and smug.

"Barry," Henry's voice was firm and commanding— _god, I messed up, I messed up, don't wanna go to the dark, no no no no_ —and Barry instantly curled himself into a ball when he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. "Son, breathe," it was another command, and he needed to oblige, _has to_ oblige. "Breathe."

His chest hurt for each breath, but he obliged. He obliged, obliged, obliged.

He made out the pale chubby hand tentatively reached out to him from his blurred sight.

The stench of fresh blood assaulted his nose, and he instantly swallowed the bile again.

He closed his eyes and saw red—only dripping red everywhere.

"I don't understand…," Iris murmured, and for a brief moment, Barry heard a tinge of scratchiness in her voice. "What set him off?"

The scratchy tinge of her voice made him thought of gigantic screeching aliens for no apparent reason.

"Barry. _Son._ "

Fuck, Henry was pissed off. _No no no no no no please no I'm sorry sorry sorry don'tmakemedontmakeme—_

"Barr, you need to breathe," Iris instructed, gently grasping his clammy hand. "Come on, breathe with me."

 _Come on, Barry-Bear_ , the high-pitched voice coaxed, worry tinged her voice. _Just breathe with me, m'kay?_

Yeah. Breathe. Barry needed to do that. Before _he_ returned. Perfect breathing was an important skill set. Amateur liars have escalated breathing when they lie. Stupid tells of normal human. Perfect human has no tells. Perfect human made no amateurish mistakes.

 _"You're no amateur, aren't you, boy?"_

Perfect breathing was an important skill set. _Important important important._ _Hate the dark. Don't wanna go—_

The room suddenly faded into pitch darkness.

There were only puddles of red scattered around him, left by the tiny body that was dripping blood everywhere—the very same tiny body that now bore the empty soulless sockets that gazed straight into his soul. Squelch, squelch, squelch—the light footsteps made the nauseating sound as she waddled through the puddles of red.

He tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. The endless abyss of the dark was cornering him from all sides.

 _"Bear,"_ she hummed, echoes of voice from the past. " _Look at me."_

"No."

She sighed and squatted in front of him, the dark abyss of her eyes stared straight into his own. He knew that those dark abysses would be beautiful freckled green, that the pale soft skin of hers wouldn't be marred with pink lines that dripped trickling red and that the back of her head would be covered with beautiful brown curls instead of this gaping skull and spilling brain—

 _"It has been a long time, Bearry."_

Barry curled smaller and whined.

* * *

The first step was to be horrified.

"You break him."

"Don't sound so horrified, honey."

Then, you must ignore the playful smirk you begrudgingly adored and started to panic instead. Well, you kinda _needed_ to panic because your personal doctor was dissociating, and it was both creepy and worrying at the same time.

After all, Scarlet Ripper _never_ had a dissociating episode.

Ripper was not in the best of shape when you found him. He was basically the empty shell of the man he once was—empty eyes staring ahead and ears that turned deaf even to the noises of murder in the room. He wasn't even responding to your jibes, no matter how much you insulted him.

He was completely _away_.

It's not like you cared, but you really _really_ couldn't afford to lose that one person who would bother to offer a shoulder to cry on every time your unstable fuckbuddy drove you crazy.

Speaking of the devil, the guy really needed to sort out his priorities. Fix their doctor first, then torture the giant alien. _God damn it, Barry._

"Barry, nobody is _home_. He is not responding." There. Firm and stern. That ought to get some of the jerk's attention.

"Eh, no worries. That's gonna pass."

A word of caution to self; resist the urge to strangle him, no matter how infuriating the careless words were, you must no react violently. That was a bad idea in general. He's far more powerful than you.

" _Barry._ "

Hopefully his own name will knock some senses in the mad guy.

 _Come on, dude. Ripper is one of us. Show some concern, will you?_

" _Savitar._ "

Nope. He's still as insane and infuriating as ever.

"You break Ripper." That was an accusation. It really was. It was totally not an exasperated resigned sigh at all.

"He ain't that easily breakable, darling," he scoffed—of course he would, who even were you kidding?—his grip tightened on the giant alien commander. "But easily fooled, I see."

The alien screeched and sneered at him, lipless skin stretched out to reveal jagged sharp teeth.

 _"Humanity's sentiments,"_ it said. "Not that I'd expect _you_ to understand, _Flash_."

White teeth flashed in a sneering grimace as your insane partner purred;

"Oh, I understand _sentiments_ just fine."

* * *

Xozhen has made a grave mistake.

In the hindsight, they should have expected this. Flash has been recruiting dangerous people across the multiverse into his ranks ever since he won the war. This was inevitable and should've been expected. Flash has manipulated the major events on multiple Earths and rescued various villains and criminals from their supposed downfall before he made them his loyal followers.

Dr. Allen was no different.

Without anyone realising it, the events of this Earth have been recklessly manipulated by the speedster.

Xozhen has made a grave mistake by assuming that Dr. Allen was not part of the Flash's ranks just because he was not a metahuman.

"You see…," the speedster hummed, sadistic glee rumbled from his throat. "I do not discriminate when it came to the weird people I keep around."

Weird was a severe understatement.

This was _horrifying_.

"Barry," Savitar gaped, voice soft and downright horrified. "What did you _do_?"

"Didn't do anything, love."

"Bullshit."

"I can't do anything when it is already there inside him," Flash sighed, the fall of his breath was so calm and awed that it made him sound like he was madly in love. "Such lovely handiwork."

" _Barry._ "

Flash simply hummed, his hand vibrated threateningly right behind Xozhen's neck, a promise of decapitation should the giant alien decided to fight back. However, the speedster's gaze was not on the alien, or the lifeless carcasses that scattered all over the floor, but instead, it was fixed on his human doppelganger.

The human doppelganger who has straight up went berserk after he regained his consciousness.

Perhaps regaining consciousness wasn't the most accurate description of Dr. Allen's current condition. The human's eyes were dilated, staring emptily ahead. He didn't acknowledge his doppelgangers, despite previously stirring into action from his episode right in Savitar's embrace. He didn't even seemed like he was breathing. The man just stared blankly ahead, not exactly in his conscious mind, but not exactly unconscious either.

Xozhen almost thought that the human would collapse after a few steps—because that was how human was supposed to function.

The alien didn't expect the bloodshed of his own kin right in front of its own eyes.

Despite his eerily empty stare, the human moved like an agile predator, acutely aware of his opponents—all of the offensive team that has made their way into this lab upon the alarm of intruder has been sounded. He rendered them all to shreds of limbs and sliced carcasses. It almost seemed effortless—the way the human leapt and lunged, burrowing the finely serrated edges of his ice blade deep in his opponents, slicing them open and drenching his body scarlet red. It was a dance of madness and blood—with the increasing death count of Xozhen's own subordinates while the human bathed in their blood.

The fact that he was completely silent, eyes empty and soulless made it even more terrifying.

" _Barry_ ," Savitar growled again. "What. Did. You. _Do_."

"Nothing."

"That is not _nothing._ "

Flash froze for a moment, before he turned his head towards the time remnant, his lips curled to a fond smirk, green sadistic eyes softened to awed loving crinkle, the purr that tore from his throat was dripping with pure lust;

"What do you expect, my love? He is _Scarlet Ripper_."

* * *

Sometimes Frost wondered why they didn't see this coming.

Really, they should have seen this coming ever since they received the demand for Barry's surrender.

Barry was so selfless. The very epitome of all the good in the world.

He could've been far richer than he currently was, but nope, he spent a good portion of his wealth to subsidise a number of his hospitals so that even the poorest people in the city could afford healthcare. He spent most of his time working multiple jobs—juggling between lab, campus and hospital so that he could contribute his best to the society. The only non-business social interaction he had was with Team Frost— who are practically unpaid vigilantes to secure peace for the city. People who has seen him with his shelter animals during his increasingly rare volunteerism will know that he has a pure heart filled with all the goodness in the world right at the first glance.

Of course, surrendering himself to the aliens to save the world was right up the doctor's alley.

"He said that it wasn't even a question," Oliver hissed, jaw clenched tight in an angry vice. "I should've known by then."

Frost tried so hard to not be angry with her own mentor. Oliver has tried. She saw how the older vigilante tried to make amends with Barry earlier. They have started anew on a fresh ground. There were no hard feelings between them.

But still, Oliver was the last person who saw Barry before he vanished into the night.

And Barry's sacrifice wasn't even worth it. Not when they just received the alerts of hostile alien ships hovering all over the world—messages demanding revenge of their fallen commander has been broadcasted all over the world. Apparently, someone has attacked the aliens first (everyone collectively threw their money on the military, including Steve, a military man he was), thus invoking fury to the rest of the force when their commander has been "murdered"—as what the ominous broadcast has been repeating.

"We've sent out our elite trackers to track him down," Steve piped from the other side of the strategy table.

Frost nodded numbly.

It was supposed to be comforting—to know that trained elites were out on a rescue mission to retrieve Barry, but the current situation made it difficult to be at ease. No matter how elite the squad was, there was nothing they could do if Barry was already a corpse right now.

Frost bit her lip and tried to dispel that thought.

She hated feeling helpless. This was just like Iris all over again. She could've done something to change the outcome, but everything seemed futile right now and she was at loss.

"No reason to dwell on the unknown," Nat murmured, and as much as Frost was happy to have another lethal girl on her friend list, she found the red-head's professionalism unnerving. "We have a world to defend."

It was amazing on how quick Steve and Banner snapped to attention the moment the words escaped the red-headed woman. They were completely focused on the mission—unyielding and stoic, the perfect image of disciplined soldiers ready to spring into action. Coming from casual laidback team of misfits, Frost found that their stern discipline was creepy.

There was no doubt that Steve's team was trained professionals—considering that they all jumped into action the moment Cisco realized that Barry was missing. Banner immediately designed a tracking algorithm, narrowing down possible locations Barry was taken away and which airspace he could possibly be, while Barnes was out in a blink—already suiting up to track his supposed charge. The fact that both Steve and Nat promptly started planning strategies against the hovering alien fleet made Frost realized how inexperience her team was when it came to dealing with a world-level threat.

The rest of the alliances was barely out of their shock and panic by the time the professional team pulled out a game plan.

These people made Oliver looked like a complete amateur, and Frost has been relying on Oliver to mentor her when she first started out.

They even covered the anti-public panic plan, which was proven important to the current situation because public terror was the last thing that they needed in this time of war.

"We're having an intergalactic war, huh," Palmer murmured under his breath. "Not how I imagine my dream to realise but—"

Sara silenced him with her glare. "Not now, Ray."

Palmer pouted but said nothing.

They went through the plan again, and for some odd reasons, the professionals have given the lead to Frost—despite her obvious lack of experience—and only occasionally they would interrupt Frost to explain things that she missed. The plan at the core was a gamble, considering that they will rely heavily on Supergirl's speed to implant the shock device the Mad Scientist team has mass-produced on the aliens—and the fact that they needed to hold the fort while it's been implanted to every hostile alien on Earth was a bit worrying. It was a generous luck on their side that both Sara and Steve have pulled a few strings, calling up their own back-ups all across the world to protect the other regions on Earth. The world was a big place after all, and this attack was not focusing solely on Central City.

At times like this, Frost thought that it would be nice to have a speedster on the team. It could divide the workload and time for Supergirl to half.

Cisco has pointed out that he may has made a super suit for Matt, but the idea of calling up the ill man to fight on their side while they have failed to protect Barry didn't sound right to Frost. She has witnessed how close the half-brothers were. To ask Matt to fight for them while Barry was at the risk of being found dead was too selfish and wrong. The idea alone made her tongue tasted bitter with bile and nausea.

No. They have no right to impose on Barry's brothers like that. Thus, she glared at Cisco and locked her mouth, not making any comment on potential speedster as an ally.

This would be their fight.

Even though she has to admit that back-up will be nice.

* * *

"Rip? Ripper?"

"I won't get too close to him now, honey."

Savitar channelled his deadliest most unimpressed glare towards his partner, lips curled into a scowl at the random bowl of popcorn that has appeared out of literal nowhere and was currently nestled in Flash's arms. The mad speedster wasn't even fazed, but instead has flashed to stand in front of him, hands gently holding the time remnant's shoulders as he leaned close to plant a quick kiss on the scowl instead.

Savitar slapped him away.

"So grumpy," Flash chuckled good-naturedly. "Adorable."

Such laidback attitude was not fitting to the situation, when they were currently standing in the middle of bloody pile shredded carcasses in an alien spaceship they have stolen and were planning to take home with them. And oh, don't mind the trembling serial killer that was literally dripping with fresh alien blood—sure, _that_ was not supposedly to be their concern at all.

"You do realise that we just break the peace treaty we literally signed this morning, right?" Savitar growled, casting a wary glance around the empty spaceship before his gaze landed on their trembling doppelganger.

"Dominators didn't sign that treaty."

"We still break them; Clause 17, paragraph 3 to be specific. It specifically states—"

"That paragraph only apply to curious alien force. This one kidnapped one of ours and in every intention is hostile," he jerked his chin in the dead commander's direction, "to me personally."

"We're stealing Dominator's spaceship."

"Rightful spoil of war," Flash sighed exasperatedly, reaching up one hand to toy with the tip of Savitar's messy bangs, a wistful fond smile was on his face. "Paragraph 8, same clause. Also mentioned in Clause 7, 12 and 23. The last includes alien races who did not sign the treaty, so technically, this ship is legally ours."

Savitar stared at Flash, looking appropriately scandalized. He then inhaled a deep breath before deadpanning;

"You do know that the rest of the fleet is gonna attack this Earth, right?" he shuddered, mismatched eyes darted briefly towards their trembling company. "Once Rip is out of his episode, he's gonna roast your ass for allowing his Earth being invaded."

"They have their heroes to defend it."

"They have no chance."

Flash halted, brows furrowed contemplatively and shifted his gaze from the mess of the control room to the trembling form of his human doppelganger. He slowly edged towards the trembling man;his shoulders slumped, lips curled to a gentle smile and throat bared—an uncharacteristic display of peace and vulnerability.

"Barry," he called, saccharine voice strangely gentle and placating, so unlike himself. _"Barry."_

It made the hair on Savitar's arms stood on their roots.

"How're you, my boy?" Flash purred, tilting Ripper's chin up so that he could meet the empty soulless eyes—no, there was emotion in those unfocused dilated eyes now—

The pure fear in Ripper's eyes was so raw that Savitar had to look away.

"The Dominators is going to attack our city, my boy," Flash sighed, sounding genuinely saddened.

It took Savitar far too long to realise why hearing his partner spoke like this disturbed him so much. It was the exact reminisce of the memories that weren't his own—the memories of his original, memories of Henry Allen trying to coax Savitar's original comply to things that he didn't want to do back when he was a child.

Of course, those memories were much more domestic, used for common purposes like coaxing Savitar's original to take an afternoon nap, or going to the dentist without biting the poor guy's fingers—domestic bullshit like that.

But it was still creepy and unnerving to hear Flash imitating Henry Allen like this.

"You're a perfect boy, aren't you?" Flash brushed the blood-drenched bangs away from Ripper's face, planting his ungloved hands on the pale cheeks afterwards. "You will protect our city, won't you? You have yet to achieve your mission, considering that there are still useless scums in our perfect society," he sighed, a perfect imitation of the charmingly coaxing Henry Allen in Savitar's own memories.

 _Fuck_.

Savitar knew what Flash was trying to do.

It was the common knowledge among their small circle of friends that Ripper feared his father. Sure, he has freedom now that the guy was gone, and he showed it through his MO as Scarlet Ripper—it was one of his rebellion against his dad when he stuck with gentle method of killing and very seldom slipping into the selection method that Henry Allen would liked him to commit to when choosing his victims—but they all knew that Scarlet Ripper didn't first start out in the recent years.

No. He has started early—so fucking early, back then when old Dr. Henry Allen was still around.

Ripper wasn't aware that they knew this part of history. Flash didn't tell his associates that he has done his homework on everyone in his ranks and has devised at least a dozen of ways to manipulate the situation to his benefits should anything turned unfavourable to him.

Perfecting the impersonation of the man that Ripper feared the most was one of those ways.

Savitar mentally swore. Ripper was going to give them hell once he regained himself back.

Leave it to Flash to piss of the guy who was partly-responsible for his own health.

"My perfect little boy."

Ripper jerked like he was electrocuted upon hearing that pride-filled words, and just like that, the fear was gone in his eyes. He was empty once again, but his move was sharp and perfect, the twirl of his dagger seemed so casual and effortless while the curl of his lips bloomed with pure bloodlust.

Shit, if the heroes thought they have seen Scarlet Ripper in action, they wouldn't see this coming.

They definitely have not met _this_ Scarlet Ripper.

* * *

The last back-up they have ever expected on the battlefield was Scarlet Ripper.

But it happened.

Frost was high-up in the air, playing transportation for Cisco and Sara as they infiltrated the alien's command ship when she alerted everyone on field about the unexpected back-up.

"Guys," her icy voice was clear and calm in his comms, but her tension still bled into the device. "We had a Ripper situation in 38th street."

"For fuck's sake," Cold muttered into their shared line.

"Seriously?!" Thea shrieked into the comms.

"To be honest, I'm not surprised," Glider huffed, sounding slightly breathless, the whir of her gun powering up can be heard from her background. "I don't think he would be capable of resisting bloodshed like this."

"He is killing aliens, though," Cisco interjected, clearly having a better view from his position up in the air. "Holy mother of dragons, I do not need those images—"

"Frost, how's the situation on 38th looks like from up there?" Nat interrupted the small scientist, more shrieks sounded from her background.

"Bloody," Frost grunted. "He's taking out a squadron of aliens on his own," she hesitated for a moment. "No, not alone. I think he has a sharp-shooter backing him up."

Nat muttered something in Russian, sounding suspiciously like a displeased comment about not having their own sharp-shooter in the field.

"Any signs of other hostiles on his side?" Steve asked, shooting an alien point-blank in the face, huffing as he round-kicked another one and decapitated that one with the broken glass window he has picked up. "Any hostile metahuman?"

He had to ask that question after accidentally almost-killing the Hartley heir not even ten minutes earlier—all because he has mistaken the unexpected back-up for a hostile. Apparently Cold has called out the favours of any of his willing (former) Rogues to cover a portion of the city.

It was a big city, okay?

Frost took a moment to respond. "Not that I can see. No Iris, no speedsters."

They all ignored the flat, emotionless tone of her voice as she mentioned Iris.

"Ain't you gonna nab the psycho?" Heatwave grunted—there were loud shrieks and what that sounded like blast of heat from his side of the communication.

"On it," Steve grunted, being the closest to the location after all. "Would appreciate a back-up though."

"I got you, baby," Nat has all but purred in the comms, sounding too seductive for comfort.

"Jesus," Oliver huffed, finally contributing to the group interaction.

"I do not need to hear that," Jefferson muttered. "And the old man is scandalised, if you wanna know."

Steve facepalmed while Nat's teasing peal of giggles crackled into their comms.

"But guys….Ripper is a back-up, shouldn't we let him help?" Palmer interjected, sounding unsure all of sudden.

"He's a wanted criminal." At least four different voices growled that into their comms. "A high-profile criminal at that," Frost added.

"But he's helping?" Palmer tried again. "And we kinda need all the help we have?"

Steve rolled his eyes but didn't comment anyway. He looked up, only to meet Cold's gaze as the older man kicked a frozen alien down the building he was fighting on. The former thief jerked his head in the direction of the 38th street, making quick signals that he would have this area covered while Steve went on and confront their unexpected back-up.

"We have landed on the command ship. Proceeding with the plan," Frost reported into the comms. "Supergirl, we're ready for your signal."

"I'm working on it," Supergirl huffed, wind blazing from her side of the comms. "Guys, I think the aliens avoided Japan. No Dominators on sight in Japanese streets."

"Must be the Godzilla."

" _Cisco_." Team Frost groaned.

"What?!"

Supergirl giggled.

Steve chuckled, completely ignoring the speed limit by now as he sped to the location.

The fact that he has taken this bike from a cowering civilian was completely irrelevant to the current crisis. How the hell was he supposed to get to the location on time while being on foot anyway? He was an enhanced, not a metahuman.

For a brief moment, it seemed like everyone was occupied with the battle and the comms were dead in his ear canal. However, as he rounded around the corner, the comms suddenly crackled to life, and Frost's hesitant voice sounded again;

"Steve? Nat?"

"Yes?" Steve responded the exact same time Nat said, "Hmm?"

"Approach with caution, guys. Ripper looks uncharacteristically violent from up here."

'Uncharacteristically violent' was a gross understatement.

Steve arrived with a halting screech at the street and almost did a double take, just to be sure that he didn't just accidentally stepped into a nightmarish universe. The asphalt was covered in sticky red and its revolting stench engulfed the area like an ominous bubble of death. The piles of shredded limbs and gutted aliens reminded Steve so much back when he was on tour as a mere soldier—the after effects of a mass slaughter that was so familiar to him.

Ripper didn't seem to mind Steve's arrival, though.

No, the man didn't even seem to notice as he was currently occupied with the giant alien he has rendered helpless, the heel of his polished boot pressed dangerously tight against the torn throat of the alien.

"Ggork…ggoork..," the alien struggled to speak, the torn flesh of its arm hung loose by tiny thread of tendon to its bone. It tried to reach out in Steve's direction, beady black eyes seemed oddly desperate.

Steve watched in horror when Ripper silently and methodically drove his foot through the alien's throat, stopping the desperate gurgling sound instantly.

Messy. This was too messy and violent.

This was not the Scarlet Ripper that they have known.

However, he didn't have the time to ponder or obey the standard protocol of arresting a criminal when three sleek daggers flew towards him, aimed directly to his eyes and throat. He barely evaded one and has to resort to the barrel of his rifle to block the other two, rendering that rifle useless the instant the blades pierced through the barrel.

Steve would've gaped in awed horror at the strength of the blades if he wasn't occupied with a handful of red-clad maniac that seemed to be so determined on stripping his flesh from his bones.

Being forced into defense, he eventually ditched the useless rifle onto the ground and went straight to hand-to-hand combat. It was his field of expertise and he had the advantage of raw strength over the serial killer.

It wasn't an easy fight, though.

Ripper made up for his lack of strength with his speed and agility. Steve felt like he was wrestling a slippery snake—trapped with the scarlet killer in an eternal dance that he was clearly losing. Each of his punch didn't seem to bore any effect on the man at all. Ripper was silent. There wasn't even a grunt or gasp that escaped the man's lips even after the punch that has definitely cracked his ribs, or that lucky shot Steve had when he deflected the ice blade onto its own owner. The guy would've had a great number of injuries by this point but, there was still no noise that slipped from his mumbling lips.

The silence was unnerving. The killer seemed to be in some form of trance, murmuring something under his breath like a man losing his mind, but his movements were sharp and precise—ice dagger has made more than scratches on Steve's body. It was by the grace of years of professional training that Steve was able to predict half of Ripper's next targets—most of those were strategically aimed to severe his tendons.

Ripper's precision definitely belonged to a man who knew a human's body like the back of his own hand.

But, it was obvious that the serial killer wasn't as trained as Steve was in close combat. The man was obviously losing stamina and nursing at least some bruised ribs while Steve merely suffered deep gashes here and there, his experience saved him from having his tendons being severed beyond repair. He eventually had his chance to strike when the serial killer suddenly swayed on his legs, seemingly like he was losing balance and was about to pass out right there. Steve took the momentary display of weakness to wrestle the ice dagger out of the killer's loose grip, and held the much smaller body secure in his strong hold.

It was when he had the killer pinned against the hood of an upturned car did Steve finally able to hear the incoherent mumbling of the mad man.

"I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill"

Steve gaped, staring into the dilated green eyes of the blond serial killer.

Madness.

This was pure madness.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm still busy. Just dropping this update because I'm excited while writing it. Insane Barry was fun to write. We get more of Barry this time, and I think a healing FrostBarry fluff is up in next chapter. Also, the siblings will probably be up in next chapter too.**

 **Meanwhile, I hope you enjoyed this update~**


	16. Aftermath

**A/N: Betaed by Grammarly (which by the way, I do not have much faith in). Also, this is the update from a completely distracted and stressed author. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

Emmy was balancing a huge tray of food when she saw them brought _him_ in.

She was in a good mood, practically over the moon because of the rapidness of Rod's recovery. Sure, his increasing appetite was a bit of a concern for her—considering that they could never afford his new appetite on their own (and they both hated to rely on their stepfather's money)—but the lady at the dining hall simply took one glance at him, frowned at the way Rod buzzed with energy before she promptly whipped out a huge tray of food like it was a perfectly normal occurrence here for people to consume towers of food instead of the normal portion of an average human being. The lady waved Emmy's attempts to pay because apparently, her expenses in the headquarter were billed straight to Ripper's tab.

So, for what purpose he allowed her to work part-time at Frost's lab if everything was billed straight to him?

She's really uncomfortable with owing the serial killer, but what she could even do? She was basically a prisoner here, and this freedom of movement was just as fake as Dr Allen's good citizen demeanour. Regardless, since Ripper has given both of them the go-ahead to leave the apartment, Emmy has been actively trying to find an escape.

She also has been actively failing.

The whole area was a literal death-trap. Adventuring in a cursed ancient pyramid would have higher survival rate than wandering in this compound. More than twice per day Emmy found herself being saved from the brink of death by random metahuman that just so happened to be around the area she has gotten lost in. After the fifth rescue, Emmy started to get this hunch that her saviours were her babysitters, and she didn't exactly have the freedom she thought she was given.

She then tried to ask for Flash's permission (knowing him being the absolute power here) to go out of the headquarters' compound, only to be extremely wary when he didn't even question her and simply barked out orders for transportation to be set up for her.

It all made sense when she gawked outside the car's window as her driver drove her around the city.

This place was not even the same city she has known. It was still Central City, but it was not _her_ Central City.

That evening, she found herself curled up in the coat closet again, clutching the red coat that she hated so much but has no choice but to hold it because she needed the comforting scent that reminded her of her dad. How was this even possible? Were they in some time loop? Parallel universe? Then, what that'd make Flash and Savitar to Ripper? Were they all the same persons?

Emmy cried to the red fabric.

Rod eventually found her when he was back from his rehab. Her little brother was already buzzing with excitement since he was finally cleared to use the enhanced gymnasium that it made her feel bad for ruining his day with her distress. He took one look at her and his smile promptly faded. Wordlessly, he left to retrieve some hot cocoa for both of them and spent the whole night holding her in the cramped closet, recounting the details of his recovery before diving into their childhood memories.

For the first time since their mother remarried, Emmy heard hope in his voice.

Thus, she made up her mind. She would try to be a little bit nicer to Ripper for Rod's sake.

That's why she almost dropped Rod's tray of food when she saw Flash brought Ripper in. The serial killer was not the picture of controlled calmness that he often exuded, but instead, the man was like the personification of insanity—eyes wide and blank on his emotionless face with blood drenching him from head to toe, shock collar wrapped around his neck and black cuffs around his wrists. Flash was barking out orders as they stormed in, snapping to his stunned subordinates to prepare the lab (whatever that was supposed to mean) while Killer Frost had her misty hands around Ripper like she was prepared to freeze him if the situation called for it. Trailing slowly behind the commotion was Savitar, who seemed more concerned on pressing a cloth over his bleeding neck as he exchanged quiet words with a pretty blond woman rather than paying attention to the delirious serial killer.

Wait, what?

Emmy did a double take, just when Savitar traded the drenched red cloth with a new one and yep, that was his neck pouring out blood from the long gash at the side of his throat like a morbid mountain creek.

How in the world he looked so casual with that kind of injury?!

Mother-hen instinct kicking in, Emmy left Rod's food on the nearby table and made her way across the hall to intercept their path. She barely managed to intercept them, but a last spurt of sprint was thankfully enough for her to grasp the sleeves of his jacket and halted him on his track.

"What happened to you?!" she huffed, voice a bit too high-pitched from the strain.

"You shouldn't strain your throat," he deadpanned instead, looking amused out of all things. "It's still healing. _Very slowly_."

She waited for the jibe about her refusing to take the magic all-healing serum (or any of their experimental drugs for all that mattered), but he didn't make any further comment about that. He just stood there, staring down at her while nursing his bleeding neck—oh no…

"You need a doctor," she whispered, being mindful of her sore throat as she frantically tugged on his sleeves towards the infirmary. "Then, some sleep."

His jaw set to a tight vice, not even budging from his spot despite Emmy's effort.

"Ooooh, this is so good," the gleeful comment halted Emmy's effort to drag the unmoving speedster, and she turned bashfully towards the pretty blonde woman, feeling guilty for ignoring her.

Savitar let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes.

"Felicity, no."

The blonde woman—Felicity?—ignored him and started giggling. Her gaze was predatory, looking at Emmy with unconcealed interest. Felicity leered towards the exasperated speedster, and Emmy must have been missing something because he scowled at the woman.

"No," he said.

"Yes," she retorted.

Savitar groaned.

The next thing Emmy knew was that she was in the infirmary, and Savitar was staring expectantly at her from his perch on the cot.

Emmy gestured meekly at the door; "Is it okay to leave her…?"

"She can survive," he snapped and very slowly tilted his head to bare his throat at her. "Patch me up and get it over with."

As much as she wanted to oblige to those sensible words, she couldn't help but hiss at him;

"But I'm not a trained medics!"

"You sew your own clothes. Same thing."

Emmy blinked incredulously at him. Sure, she has refused the clothes Ripper bought for her—and she may have ruined everything in his linen closet to make a dress in her failed attempts to piss him off (it didn't work, he just has the maintenance staffs replace those that she ruined and gave her cupcakes afterwards)—but in what world would sewing some fabrics together was an equal equivalent to sewing open gaping wound?

This world, obviously.

He sighed that long-suffering sigh again. "It's just a superficial wound, not even that deep."

Emmy tried to imitate the trademark unimpressed stare she often saw on his face.

There was a twitch at the corner of his lips, but his expression fell flat as he explained;

"Rip's aim is super bad when his mind is not in control."

Emmy refused to budge.

"Plus, all the medical staffs are called to the lab to deal with Rip," he added, eyes fluttering closed. "Either you patch me up, or I'll let it bleed till it heals on its own."

She was pretty sure that was a lie. From what she has observed during her stay here, Flash didn't half-ass anything, and that included his human resource. But, she held her tongue and oblige to his request. He was one of the nicer and less scary people in the compound, hence, she was not so fond of the idea of shutting him out. She didn't have many privileges in choosing companions while being a literal captive here.

"What happened?" she tentatively asked, snapping the latex gloves on.

"He snaps, goes insane, commits a mass slaughter on an alien squadron and gets arrested," he sighed, offering his arm to her when she persistently insisted him to use the specially-formulated anaesthetic. "Felicity helps us bust him out, but as you can see, he is too far gone by now."

"Will he ever get better—?"

He opened his single good eye to give her a contemplative stare.

Yeah, she understood that look. She was confused too. She didn't know why she cared for her own kidnapper.

This wasn't Stockholm syndrome, right?

"Don't know," he eventually shrugged, not even flinching when she dabbed the alcohol-soaked cotton around the gaping wound. "Maybe. Maybe not."

He fell understandably silent when she started sewing the wound. It was probably a mercy to Emmy since she was trying so hard to recall the information she learnt from the little time she spent with Frost in the lab. She really didn't want to mess this task up. God knew that she wouldn't survive Flash's wrath if she accidentally murdered Savitar.

As ridiculous as accidentally murdering a speedster with a needle sounded like, the idea still scared her.

Though, Savitar was right. It was indeed superficial wound, probably felt like a scratch to him, being a metahuman and all, but the idea that he could shrug an injury on the most vulnerable part of human anatomy like it was nothing made she worried for Rod. Emmy knew what they have done to her baby brother. Rod was going to be one of them too—and as much as she was happy to see the childish enthusiasm in her baby brother, it still worried her that there was a catch in this whole farce and these people will end up using Rod as their perishable pawn.

"Hey, Ems? Are you here?" Rod's voice startled her from her thoughts, causing her to might have accidentally stabbed her charge.

To his credits, he didn't even flinch, even though she was sure she has stabbed something inside him. Rod emerged from the door, cradling food in one arm while shoving a full slice of cake into his mouth using his other hand—his smile was so genuine it made her heart wrenched.

When was the last time she saw her brother smiled like this?

"Oh, you guys are back," Rod commented upon seeing Savitar. "How's the trip?"

The casual familiar way Rod was greeting Savitar was not a new thing, but it was still strange to witness. Unlike the other people in this godforsaken universe, Rod seemed to not have any sense of the fearful respect others had for the supervillains. Heck, he treated them like they were either his teachers or his older siblings—with warmth and genuine friendliness. In return, the villains seemed to respond to the familiarity with the obvious lack of their trademark condescending arrogance.

"Messy," Savitar grunted, though the corners of his lips twitched to a smirk.

"I heard the commotion. What was all that about?"

"Ripper snapped."

Rod stiffened for a moment, concern and worries spread all over his face. "Fuck," he cussed. "Where is—?"

"Lab."

And just like that, Rod was gone in a flash.

"Hero-worship," Savitar commented, sounding genuinely amused that Emmy was sure he would've chuckled if only he didn't have a half-sewn wound on the side of his neck. "You two are weird."

She didn't even have any retort for that. Stockholm syndrome and hero worship?

Weird was an understatement.

* * *

"So, you're telling me that you had Ripper arrested?"

Caitlin winced and lowered her gaze, honestly feeling too much of a failure to meet Joe's gaze.

"We had him," she said, squaring her shoulders to brace for the angry outburst. "But he got away."

They literally had him in shock collars and handcuffs and he was still able to escape.

That was the epitome of failure at its finest.

Joe was eerily silent after that. Caitlin snuck a peek to the detective, only to return to admiring the colour of the floor tiles upon seeing his angry and mournful expression. This was super bad. Joe's hands were trembling—and whether it was from sorrow or the wrath, Caitlin didn't want to know.

"How?"

Upon hearing the heartbroken whisper, Caitlin cursed her whole team for making her the messenger of the bad news.

"Well…."

* * *

Rod didn't know what to feel.

On one side, he should feel delighted since he has been literally hoping for this since the day Ripper kidnapped him.

But he couldn't help but feel the need to be concerned too.

He knew his older sister—god, he has been clinging to her skirts since he first started to _crawl_ —so there wasn't even any doubt that Emmy despised Ripper so much. She just tolerated Ripper for Rod's sake. Every time Ripper was home, Rod always got this vibe that the relationship between his mentor and his sister was like that of a grumpy cat and a tentative friendly puppy.

Emmy was the cat.

Which was kinda odd because Rod always thought his sister as a puppy—with all those wide puppy eyes and tiny whimpers she used to make people bent to her will—but yep, she was definitely the cat between those two. You know, the kind of grumpy angry cat that seemed to hate you so much and ruined your stuff to piss you off? That was Emmy.

A serial killer he may be, but Ripper has the patience of a saint.

Rod's poor, poor, mentor has been an extremely good host during their first week here when Emmy's tantrum-throwing was at its peak. She eventually cooled down after that week—probably realising that she would only get a box of cupcakes from Ripper after each of her tantrum and none of the reaction she expected. Although she has obviously given up on being a figurative pain in Ripper's ass, she kept her distance from the man and simply avoided Ripper altogether whenever the man was home. Yep. Grumpy Cat. Haha. Plot twist. His sister was not the cute puppy Rod thought she was but instead she was a grumpy cat all along.

However, she has the soft squishy side of a grumpy cat too.

Rod watched, all wide-eyed in disbelief when his sister gently manoeuvred Ripper until she had his head rested comfortably on her lap. Considering how obvious her dislikes to the man was, this was mega weird. She was humming that lullaby she usually reserved for Rod, her slender long fingers thread through Ripper's hair like a trained routine. Her other hand was laced with Ripper's own, and Rod resisted the urge to comment upon seeing the twin crosses—Ripper's earring and Emmy's pendant—trapped between their palms. Her gentle attention to the older man did invoke a twinge of jealousy inside Rod since he used to have all of Emmy's attention, but he couldn't help but internally cooing too.

Bless his sister for invoking his inner fanboy by showing her squishy side to Ripper.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Ripper was heavily sedated and still _away_ —the man was still staring blankly ahead and not acknowledging anyone—and was practically harmless right now. But, Rod thought there might be even more to his sister's gentleness towards the man who murdered their stepsister.

"So many bruises…," Emmy murmured, voice barely audible with the strain of her damaged throat, though the concern was a reminisce of the times she used to say the same thing to Rod back when they were little kids.

For a brief moment, Rod saw the tiny little girl of his childhood angrily glaring at the dark blue spots on the exposed skin of Ripper's forearms, in place of the petite young woman Emmy has grown to. Talk about familiar scenes. Rod watched Emmy rubbed Ripper's reddened skin around the black magnetized bracelet cuffs, wondering what the hell was going on in his sister's head, especially upon seeing the growing frown on Emmy's face.

He didn't expect her to suddenly snap her head up and glare straight into the dark glass on the wall, knowing that there were eyes observing them from the other side of the glass.

"Ems?" Rod asked tentatively, surprised at the sudden defiance from his docile sister.

Dude, they all knew who was on the other side of the glass, and this wrathful defiant glare was not a good idea. You do not challenge the Alpha. Nuh-uh. Bad idea all around. No matter how nice the guy was to them, he was the head of this evil headquarters—there was a good damn reason these dangerous bloodthirsty people grovelled by his feet and worshipped the ground he walked or ran on. Respect and obedience were obligatory.

One simply did not challenge the Flash.

"Ems," Rod hissed softly, reaching out for her hand, but was taken aback when she simply tightened her hold on Ripper's limp hand—the sheer force of her trembling grip would have left the imprint of the jewellery on their skin. " _Emma_ ," he tried again, desperate now.

She ignored him and snarled towards the one-way glass window;

"Is everyone a toy to you?!"

Rod definitely knew what he was supposed to feel when Flash phased into the room and towered over them.

He felt fear.

* * *

"Wait, wait, wait, hold the fuck up, Rogers."

Steve winced, suddenly felt like a tiny rat in a cage filled with ravenous hungry cats—and considering the disbelieving looks he was receiving from the crowd on the other side of hologram screen, his imagination might as well be the truth.

Hologram Stark has never looked so scary—especially when Nick and Maria were standing next to him—but holy hell, he gave Steve the chills. Steve used to think of that as impossible. The guy was a shrimp in a geeky nerd t-shirt and huge glasses. Not exactly the normal picture of a scary guy.

However, Steve kept his eye contact with the frowning Maria instead of meeting the man's disbelieving glare. There, less scary. Now, let's get this debriefing over with.

Stark rolled his eyes and let out a miserable sigh.

"Help me out here, and just say yes or no, okay?"

Steve nodded meekly. He could do simple yes and no.

"You arrested the Scarlet Ripper."

"Yes."

"You had him in a shock collar and handcuffs."

"Yes."

The glares from the other side of the screen intensified.

God, he hoped Caitlin had a better time explaining this failure to her team.

"He got away literally ten minutes after that."

Steve inhaled a deep breath. Well, technically it was sixteen and a half minutes, but Steve knew better to not say that, so he steeled his voice and answered stoically;

"Yes."

Stark opened his mouth to start one of his infamous rants, but thankfully Banner swooped in to rescue Steve from that fate.

"The cuffs and collar malfunctioned," the ageing scientist sighed, wiping his glasses obsessively. "And we're sort of distracted…"

Banner's tired gaze darted towards their other two comrades, where Natasha was bandaging Barnes' bleeding head. How the hell Ripper was always a step ahead of them was an annoying mystery, but Banner has to tip his hat towards the serial killer's foresight. Compromising Barnes as his pawn to distract them worked effectively in his favour, considering that it took a combined effort of Steve and Nat to take down Barnes, and by the time their back up arrived to help the duo, the serial killer's own back up has arrived.

Iris West was a formidable opponent—even far superior to Frost.

But yep, the former reporter came to rescue her own killer.

Honestly, what the actual fuck Central City?

"Dude, the hell do you mean the cuffs and collar malfunctioned?" Stark gaped, conveniently distracted from his initial rant. "Like, it's Starlabs' creations. Star-freaking-Labs. I know after the explosion they lost most of their talented scientist, but Dr Wells is still there and Cisco-freaking-Ramon too. They are like, geniuses. Their gadgets can't malfunction—"

Banner exhaled a deep long breath. This was going to be a long debriefing.

* * *

"Mama cat."

That was the fifth time Savitar muttered that in the span of ten minutes.

The fact that he ended it with a snicker made it even weirder. If Killer Frost didn't know any better, she would have thought that the blade Ripper used against the speedster was coated with some weird poison that may activate the insanity gene which naturally existed inside all Barry Allen. However, considering that Flash has been stabbed with the same blade and was perfectly fine without excess insanity, that idea didn't seem relevant now.

She shot Savitar a questioning gaze.

The speedster simply lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. Well, ain't that helpful?

She returned to her task then, watching over the vitals of her favourite serial killer. What has triggered this madness was still a mystery to her, but judging from the calmness that Felicity, Flash and Savitar were exuding—she was sure that those three at least have an idea of what was going on. Ripper's vitals were haywire by the time they managed to strap him into the cot in her lab, which was weird because externally, he looked calm and composed. Not a single muscle on his face betrayed his emotionless expression, despite the rapidness of his heartbeats and his extremely feverish temperature. It was like his body and his facial expression refused to cooperate with each other—his bodily system reacted like how a normal human would be in an extreme flight-or-fight situation while his face was a dead stony mask.

It did give Killer Frost the chills once Flash let Ripper loose in one of their prisons to burn out the energy.

Six hours, it took full six hours of a mass massacre for the serial killer to finally drop to his knees and no longer resisting—his stamina was completely used up.

Despite being completely burnt out, he still has the last spurt of energy to try slicing Savitar's neck open, though.

Which afterwards—approximately 3 hours later—brought them here. They managed to sedate and restrain Ripper with the younger of the Britton's siblings hovering over the serial killer throughout the whole process. The boy was deeply attached to Ripper—something that no one could fathom—and it was a struggle of itself to convince the boy to stay put while they place Ripper in the confinement cell. Barry eventually gave the siblings the go-ahead to enter the cell once they removed everything lethal from Ripper and cuffed his wrists with the magnetic cuffs.

It's not that they didn't trust their friend, but after the extremely effective housekeeping Ripper done to solve the overpopulation issue of their prison, letting him around their people without restrains felt a bit too dangerous.

He has surprisingly strong crushing grip for a man of such lean physique.

But, it was more surprising to see Emma gently manoeuvred Ripper until she had his head rested comfortably on her lap, considering how obvious her dislikes to him was.

Then, _this_ happened. Life sure was full of surprise.

When she wished for a non-boring life, Killer Frost didn't know she will have her wish to _this_ degree.

"Mama cat," Savitar murmured and snickered again.

That was the last straw. Killer Frost exhaled a deep breath and asked calmly; "Savitar, what the fuck?"

And for once, the scarred speedster looked genuinely entertained that he didn't even bother to hide that little fragments of Barry Allen that have resurfaced into his demeanour. It was pure giddy amusement, bright and alive and briefly reminded Killer Frost of her old nemesis. He ducked his head in the direction of the one-way glass of the cell they kept Ripper in, grinning like there was some joke that she was missing.

"Mama cat."

Frost narrowed her glare towards him, before shifting her stare towards the scene in the cell—or more accurately, to the scene of petite, lovely and soft-spoken Emma Britton fisting the front of Flash's shirt strong enough to make the taller man bent to her height. The young lady had her teeth bared and bright green eyes blazed in raw anger.

That was not a laughing matter.

In fact, it was straight up worrying. Not even Savitar dared to do that—and Savitar was that one person who could get away with almost everything when it was between him and Flash. This young lady, who stood so small and barely reached Flash's chest, who was so soft and gentle without an ounce of violence present in her soul, who have no superpowers in her arsenal and refused the treatment they offered her—this young lady was defiantly challenging their feared leader.

Killer Frost internally sighed. She actually liked the gentle girl. Emmy was a wonderfully helpful hand in her lab.

And now Flash was going to kill her.

"This is so funny."

It took all of Killer Frost's willpower to not bitchslap Savitar for that unnecessary comment.

Felicity leant closer to the glass, eyes gleaming in interest. "Your boss is surprisingly calm."

"Calm before the storm," Killer Frost sighed, already resigning to the loss of her helpful assistant. "Look at his face. You could see his bloodlust steaming."

Felicity tipped her head contemplatively. The hacker stared into the cell, blue eyes were calculative and intent from behind her thin-framed glasses. It didn't seem like she was terrified or concerned though, but instead, her face was contemplatively melancholic. Then, Felicity Smoak smiled.

 _What the ever loving fuck—_

"They make the same expression, right?"

Savitar monotonous comment halted Killer Frost from starting her tirade. The man leant against the glass with the side of his head pressed lightly against the surface, arms crossed, and shoulders completely relaxed—the most at ease Killer Frost has ever seen him. His lips quirked to the rare genuine smile, of which Felicity returned with a somewhat similar smile—looking like they were trading words that others could not hear. Killer Frost felt sufficiently left out, especially when the two then exchanged a knowing look—mismatched eyes stared into the bright blue orbs before they both cracked a similar smile and burst to amused snickers right there.

There was an inside joke there; something that Killer Frost didn't know.

"He looked at me the same way as this when I first found out…," Felicity smiled wistfully. "The overjoyed face of a man looking at a trustworthy ally."

"Tell me again why you two didn't work out?"

"We're more comfortable being platonic," Felicity shrugged. "I can read him like an open book, down to the slightest tension in his muscles or the little flickers in his eyes. I'm probably the only one who knows his deepest darkest secret without your time-travelling cheat. And I'm definitely okay with his hobbies."

Well, considering that she did not have second thoughts on contacting _them_ to bust Ripper out, Killer Frost didn't know why Felicity deemed it was necessary to have this declaration of loyalty. They all know where her loyalty lain.

Bros before hoes, as the young kids said. Felicity adhered to those words religiously, even if the hoe was Oliver Queen himself.

"We know where your loyalty lies." Savitar's sigh almost sounded like a relieved exhale of breath.

"Oh, do you?"

"You did save his ass literally a few hours ago."

Felicity tipped her head back and smiled innocently bright, genuine love was in her voice as she beamed. "That's what best friends do, right?"

Killer Frost almost smacked her own head for being so slow. Of-fucking-course. Felicity Smoak was the one who made Scarlet Ripper almost untraceable. She was the most crucial back-up Ripper had when things went sideways to the land of fucked-up. Those two have been close friends for almost a decade—they even dated for a while— and there was no doubt that Felicity knew more about Ripper than anyone else. Bizarre relationship aside, Felicity's unwavering loyalty was probably one of Ripper's most important weapon.

Green Arrow was known to occasionally team-up with Team Frost. It was super weird that even such team-up couldn't track the faintest trail of Scarlet Ripper. It would not be as weird if the heroes considered that they have a wolf in their flock of sheep.

Ripper and Overwatch have a complex relationship that was almost as bizarre as Flash and Savitar.

"The Mama Cat thing is really appropriate," Felicity hummed, stifling a giggle. "She is like the angry mama cat protecting her kittens."

It was a weird time to change the topic, but Savitar seemed to get the cue Killer Frost so obviously has missed and promptly followed the hacker's lead. He leant his shoulder closer against the glass, his lips formed that little amused smirk again as he said;

"Not that it is necessary. He is safe here"

"Hmm~" Felicity brushed her fingers over the glass, right over Emmy's enraged face. "I wonder if this is just an automated reaction," she huffed softly, waving her hands aimlessly in Emmy's direction. "Not that I can't understand her rage, but this anger is weird considering that she is not fond of him as I am."

"Such deep unconscious bond," Savitar murmured. "He has more back-ups than he realised."

"Sounds like someone is envious."

Savitar snorted but made no further comment.

Felicity huffed and shifted her stare back to the cell. Her gaze softened considerably then, a little smile spread on her face as she whispered to the glass—her voice was dreamy like she wasn't even here and has gone so far and deep in her own mind;

"They really do have the same expression. It's so cute."

* * *

"He is not awake yet."

Caitlin bit her lower lip; the anxiety was eating her conscience and made her squirm and fidget even though she didn't even have the misfortune of meeting the eyes of the man at the other side of the line. It felt so selfish of her, having Matt updating her regarding Barry's condition despite her hunch that the older man probably blamed her for everything that has happened.

After all, they were supposed to take care of Barry—they were _trusted_ to care for Barry—and they failed miserably.

It was both relief and shame that almost stopped her heart when Lyla delivered the news that they found Barry in one of the crashed spaceships littering around the battlefield. The feeling worsened when Lyla flat-out requested her to verify Matt's identity as Barry's relatives. It was the appropriate procedure and all, but the expression that Matt made when Caitlin walked into the infirmary was straight up confused and betrayed, making Caitlin curse Lyla for being overly-cautious despite seeing the uncanny resemblance of the brothers. Thus, to ease up the guilt, she has no choice but to tell him all about the alien debacle—she thought that he deserved to know, being Barry's only blood family left—but did it make her cringed when he wordlessly shouldered past her to go through all the tight procedure to bring Barry home with him.

Wisely, not one person in their alliance—or the extremely stereotypical black-suit government agents flocking outside of the infirmary—dared to question Matt when he decided to keep Barry at home with their family until things got better. The man was exuding the very same dangerous aura Caitlin felt during their first meeting—the very same suffocating atmosphere that promised severe consequences that stood in his way—that even the usually persistent suited agents seemed to understand it was a bad idea to pick a fight with Matt right there.

Therefore, Barry was now safely handed to the care of his half-brothers.

This would surely lead to some repercussion with the government and the media in the near future—if they have not already gotten the wind of this—but Barry was safe now, so Caitlin thought that they could cross that particular bridge when the time came.

It was barely a few days since the war against the Dominators but most people have slowly returned to their old routine, leaving the government and the alliance of heroes to clean things up. Sara and her team have to leave after the celebration, but not without giving Caitlin the much-needed information regarding the magical fountain that resurrected her. The rest of the heroic match-up remained in the cities to do the damage control.

The disappointment over Ripper's escape weighed them down like a dark cloud, but the short text Caitlin received from Steve had given her hope that maybe the failure wasn't as bad as they thought.

"Dr Snow?"

Caitlin jerked back slightly, feeling the shame again upon hearing the hint of concern in Matt's voice.

"Yes," she responded automatically, voice a pitch higher than normal. She cleared her throat once and tried again. "I, um, if anything… can you please—?"

"I'll keep you updated," he agreed flatly, and Caitlin winced once more.

"Thanks, Matt."

"Sure," the older man said. "Felicity will probably keep you updated too."

That felt a bit too much like he didn't want to have anything to do with her and would rather leave Felicity to deal with the team.

She grimaced when he promptly hung up.

"He's mad?"

Caitlin sighed and lifted her shoulders in a half-shrug. Len mirrored her grimace, nodding in understanding even though his hand didn't stop typing away on the laptop, only shifting to nudge Cisco head from the chair's armrest. Cisco was snoring on the other chair, slouched so low that only half of his small body was on the surface, head resting over the armrest with strain enough to give Caitlin a second-hand neck ache. The little scientist has nodded off to sleep a few hours ago, exhausted after being worked to hack into CCPD's cold case's archive and decrypting the information they both needed.

"Anything?" Caitlin asked, bracing herself with one hand over the table as she leant over Len's shoulders.

"Just some old stuff," Len frowned, and Caitlin couldn't help but feel grateful for having an understanding member in her team. The older man didn't even question her when she asked him to help her reading through this cold case. "Why would you want to look into cold cases anyway?"

To be honest, even Caitlin didn't really know the actual reason for this.

Perhaps it was the need to do something while coping with Barry's absence in the cortex, or maybe it was her desperate needs to have something to start tracking down Ripper.

After all, with the discovery of recent evidence on Ripper, their suspect range has suddenly widened and filled with uncertainty.

They have been relying on the grainy security feed to have a sketch of Ripper, but now they weren't even sure if the face behind the mask was not a disguise too. The blue eyes were a fake, and it was frustrating as hell when they couldn't track the origin of Ripper's lens they miraculously found, considering that it was generic cosmetic lens used by at least half the city. Now, there were doubts that Ripper was even blonde, and speculation has arisen that part of the serial killer's facial features might be silicone prosthetics that were specially made to throw the police off his tracks.

Considering how meticulous the serial killer was, that was a likely possibility.

It was kinda insulting that they all just realised this possibility. Talk about incompetent.

"Cait," Len's sharp voice snapped Caitlin out of her thoughts. "Is there any special reason we're looking into this specific cold case from 20 years ago?"

Caitlin was honestly surprised that Len only asked now, approximately over five hours after they started reading those files.

"Well…," Caitlin gave him a hesitant smile. "Steve mentioned something that he noticed in Ripper's latest rampage."

Ha. Ha. They must have been so desperate right now to link Ripper with Central's oldest horror story. As much as the rampage was so not Ripper's style, Steve did notice that it was oddly familiar.

Complete annihilation of the victims, check. Shredded limbs of the victims, check. Unnecessary blood spill around the crime scene, double check. Unfathomable behaviour that went straight down the uncanny territory; triple check that.

You could see how desperate they were in trying to find a lead to track Ripper down. Caitlin wouldn't even blame Len if the man straight up laughed at their conspiracy theory.

There was a long silence before Caitlin finally started to feel the needs to worry.

"Len?" she urged, waving her hands in front of his face.

Len didn't respond.

* * *

Len was terrified.

 _"My city is crumbling down, crumbling down, crumbling down._

 _My city is crumbling down, my poor city."_

He remembered a tiny body, playing hopscotch in puddles of blood, making her merry way towards him as he cowered in stunned fear—all the while she was gracefully twirling around the shredded limbs of his former gang and clients that paved her ways towards him.

 _"Build it back from roots and base, roots and base, roots and base,_

 _Build it back from roots and base, my poor city."_

How old was he back then? Probably around the same age as Caitlin, maybe younger even—he remembered being so noob at his job after all—but nah, who would even care? It was some good twenty years ago, and Len has been strategically trying to forget those wide green eyes and the tiny lithe body.

Heck, he still didn't know why he was even allowed to live.

The little bitch finished his little gang and his clients the exact same way Ripper obliterated the alien squadron. No mercy. No pity. Back then, when she hopscotched her way through all the gore towards him, Len was hundred per cent sure he was a goner.

 _"Rats and scums must go away, go away, go away._

 _Rats and scums must go away, show no pity."_

God damn that horrible song.

Also, the twirling blood-drenched skirts were fuels to his nightmares.

 _Crimson Jack_ , the media back then had called her. "Jack", because the stupid pigs working at the station back then was hellbent on believing that "Jack" was just an extremely short man. Yep. An _extremely_ short man. Len wasn't even going to start questioning that. Pigs were stupid now, they were even more stupid back then. What even was new. Apparently the uniformed pigs back then didn't think that a woman was capable to inflict such legendary horror in their city—let alone the little girl Crimson Jack actually was.

Not that she usually left any living survivor to tell the tale—the shredded corpses were the only ones testifying to her attributes after all.

And Len was not going to go to the station and gave an official statement about her anyway. He was just so fucking grateful she allowed him to live after literally ripping his gang and clients apart like the scums of society she sang about.

He always wondered if Jack did not consider him as scums of society, considering that she let him live in the end.

 _"Rip them up with no mercy, no mercy, no mercy._

 _Rip them up with no mercy, show no pity."_

Geez, and now Ripper had to remind him of the damned creepy girl.

Curse the Scarlet Ripper to the depth of hell.

* * *

 **A/N: I know I promised FrostBarry fluff, but the word count on my Word Doc showed a 6666; and I kinda wanted to have more of the siblings since I love Emmy so much...so yeah, just a lot of exposition being shoved into your face this update. Sorry. You already know who Len's nightmare was, because like, I couldn't make it anymore obvious. The song she sang is in the tone of "London Bridge is Falling Down". Have fun trying to have the voice in your head sings that. Points if you can make it in creepy little girl voice.**

 **And a little note; I'm currently extremely busy with my new internship and overall real-life adult responsibilities that I belatedly realised I'm not prepared for, so future updates will be extremely slow. Emphasis on the 'extremely'.**

 **Also; AOT Season 3 and Sims 4 Seasons were fully to blame for this delayed update since I have been binge-watching AOT and abusing the holidays feature of Seasons as procrastination option after the crushing realisation of the impending adulthood.**


	17. Author's Notice

**Note :** **Hello, just dropping by to tell you that this particular story might be on hiatus until late November/mid December 2018. I'm busy with life and I really don't want to ruin my plot with rushed writing in between my busy schedules. There might be times that I'd say 'fuck responsibilities' and update this story, but don't count on it. In the next few months, I might only be updating my other fics with lighter nonsensical plot instead of this one. Sorry, and thank you for sticking on this story.** **See you around November/December!**


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